


Until Victory: The Inquisition

by HBSailin



Series: Until Victory [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2019-10-19 16:29:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 48
Words: 156,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17604881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HBSailin/pseuds/HBSailin
Summary: The following is based on the Dragon Age video game series (and most accompanying works), and begins about a third into the game DA: Inquisition. I have tried to include context clues, but I am an imperfect creature. If something is confusing, or you are new to the world of Dragon Age, there are many fan created videos about the various romances on the ‘tube. This tale is about Cullen and the Inquisitor, a rogue Trevelyan, and their friends. There will be some sex from a variety of preferences, it just starts off slowly.This work began as a behind the scenes view. I used to think about what the people back at camp or Skyhold would be doing, so I wrote these little chapters, and have been stringing them together.  They are leading up to a more original work about what happens in the two years between DA: Inquisition and DA: Trespasser.I have tried to rephrase and condense cut-scenes to fit my head canon while staying close to the source text. Oh, and some characters from outside of the Inquisition will be making appearances, so look out for old favorites.Use of languages other than Common (English) is intentional, and probably full of errors. Tell me, I'll fix it.Enjoy my practice scribbles!





	1. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ABOUT HORSES: Ei'hearna is the name of the breed I created for the Trevelyan family. The horse is their sigil and breeding them their main obsession. It has meaning, but I lost the notebook I wrote it down in! As for looks, think Friesian, and you'd have it. The rest of the breeds are from in-game sources.
> 
> ABOUT LANGUAGES: I am no linguist. If I've made hilarious mistakes, tell me and I will change it. The use of other languages is intentional, for characters that do it and for meaning. I've tried to use idioms, cliches, and aphorisms that are typical of the language. Modern English is the Common tongue. 
> 
> The in-game Elvish is fragmented, or a cypher depending on who you believe. I found a great online source, Elven DAI Translator. The poem is cobbled from that source. Solas and most everyday elves will use DA Elvish. I have sprinkled in other forms of Elvish, where appropriate. When I do it, it is intentional as to meaning (to the best of my guessing) and as to character.

Trevelyan stood motionless under the tent, frowning at the kneeling, singing peoples of the camp.

_~ The night is long and the path is dark_

_look to the sky, for one day soon, the dawn will come ~_

__

As a child surrounded by loved ones in the family pews at the front of the nave, singing this hymn in the Chantry in Ostwick had brought her such comfort, such peace. The statue of Andraste was old, ancient even, not in the straight planes and sharp edges of Val Royeaux, but a living, rounded, beautiful woman. Trevelyan’s oldest brother had once told her the statue would breathe and walk the length of the Chantry nave if they all prayed hard enough. It had been years before she gave up trying.

But now, as the people knelt on the frozen ground in front of her, voices raised and gazes focused on her as if she were the statue, the living representation of Andraste, bride and prophet of the Maker, the plaintive tune filled her with a feeling of disquiet. Who was she, that she should carry this Mark across her palm?That people believed Andraste herself had released her from the Fade?

But that was just it. She knew who she was, and this important, public, Thedas-shattering role was not that person. Though perhaps it now had to be. She dropped her own gaze in obeisance to Mother Giselle, who led the singing.

As the song faded into the cold night air, Mother Giselle leaned into Trevelyan to whisper, “Hesitation can be like the breath before a song; it is what is needed to make your voice strong and sure. In that pause, one can find purpose.” Then she walked into the crowd of night-shrouded faithful to lead them in further prayer.

 _Find purpose._ Taking action was something that gave Trevelyan no feelings of trepidation. Making her will manifest was her birthright. Her father, as The Trevelyan, had taken delight in his youngest child – his only girl. From small whims to stable designs to political alliances, she had been included and consulted on plans of action from her earliest days. It was her mother, though, that taught her how to care for and lead disparate peoples. A child of nobility, initiative came to her as naturally as breathing.

She knew the limitations of the camp, of this young Inquisition. During the course of their work in Haven she had begun to understand what role the Inquisition could play in the future, would have to play now that the Breach from the Fade had been sealed but the Rifts remained. As she had done since the explosion that destroyed the Chantry Conclave trying to reconcile the Templars and the Mages, she would act to help them, guide them in a larger purpose. Even with all of her other responsibilities, her faith lead her to believe that she must have the Mark for a reason.

She nodded slightly as she looked at the palm of her hand.

“I see you have made a decision about something,” a soft voice broke into her reverie. It could only belong to the closed book that was Solas. He had become a mentor of sorts, from the moment he took her hand and induced her to close her first Rift, yet she felt she barely knew him more now than she did when she first saw him months ago, after the explosion at the Conclave. She had woken briefly from a fevered dream and found him at her bedside.

She remembered blinking, as she lay on her side on the cot. He had been sitting at her side, one hand holding a small book and the other tapping his slim finger against generous lips, a quill at the ready, clearly lost in thought. In her delirium, she thought the perfect planes of his ears and cheekbones, the cutting edge of his jaw, must be part of the dream. Likewise the improbable combination of solidity and strength in his slim, lean body. Most elves in the south looked like ambulatory sticks, all points and long pieces. She had seen few outside of Ostwick with this combination of physical power and dignified mien .

Trevelyan smiled at the thought and turned to look at the handsome elf, raising a hand to brush her windswept black locks from her face. “I have come to a decision; a rather important one.”

“Can I ask what?” he smiled lightly, though it did not reach his eyes.

“About the Inquisition. I will continue to aid them, help them, guide them however I can.” She felt a tingle and a faint green glow pulsed from her palm. “I have found purpose.”

Solas looked to her hand and said, “I see. A word, if you please?” he set down his staff and gestured further away from camp, past some tents and frozen scrub trees.

They walked to an empty brazier that marked the edge of camp. Loose dry snow, hardly more than ice, blew like sand over the drifts, its skittering schuss a counterpoint to the whistling winds. He waved a long, elegant hand and blue flames burst into the brazier. Then he stood as always when without a staff, shoulders back, posture perfect, and gazed placidly into the cold night.

“Mother Giselle understands more than just the Chant of Light; she understands how a cause often stands on a knife’s edge. Perception can be as important as Truth,” he said, without turning to look at Trevelyan.

Trevelyan gazed at her left hand before she said, “She says the Maker is at work in the moment, and in how that moment is remembered.”

Solas only nodded. “You would be wise to consider that, in the days to come.”

Trevelyan waited for him to speak again. She had already learned that while Solas loved to answer questions, he would only share freely when he was ready. He had sought her out, he would lead the discussion.

“The orb that Corypheus carried, it is an Elven artifact. He used it to open the Breach. Unlocking it is almost certainly what caused the explosion.”

Trevelyan did her best to hide her shock, keeping her tone even, like Solas’. “So the explosion that destroyed the Temple of Sacred Ashes – Andraste’s temple - and killed nearly everyone at the Conclave was caused by an _elven_ artifact?” Trevelyan clarified.

“Yes,” was all he replied. Finally he said, “I am concerned for the reaction that will come when the origins of the orb are discovered in wider Thedas.” Anger licked at his tone.

“How do you know about the orb? What is it, exactly?”In spite of her best efforts, Trevelyan could hear the acid in her own voice.

“It was a focus. Such foci were used by the elves to gather ancient magicks. I’ve seen them in my wanderings in the Fade.” Solas’ eyes narrowed, his tone more clipped. “Corypheus may think it Tevinter in make, but most of their magic was sifted from the ashes of my people. I cannot allow him to unknowingly risk our alliance.”

Trevelyan blinked; if even this much emotion was leaking through, Solas must be furious. She kept that thought at the back of her head. Instead she asked, “Whatever the origins of the Orb, the elves are not to blame here. Corypheus has his own purpose. This information would only cause more violence, perhaps even calls for an Exalted March on the elves, if it were to get out. I am faithful, but no zealot. Killing any of the Maker’s children never did seem like wisdom to me, stupid Exalted Marches.”

“Caution and compassion? You surprise me, my friend,” Solas turned, considering her for a moment.

She felt his wavering. She knew enough of him that she could tell he was coming to his own decision. “What do you advise?”

Finally he looked away and said, “The Inquisition will need to act from a place of power if they are to recover from Corypheus’ direct attack on Haven. You must aide them, guide them. Scout to the north. There you will find such a place.”

“A place of power? Here in the frozen Frostbacks?” she queried.

Solas nodded once. “Yes. It is a keep, an old settlement now long disused. It is called Skyhold.”

“I thought Haven and Orzammar were the only settlements this deep into the mountains. Between the terrain and the weather, keeping the place supplied and connected would be an adventure in itself. No wonder it’s been lost to living memory.”

Solas frowned. “Humanity has a tendency to give up on difficult tasks when easier ones are to be had. Elves, too it seems. Much is lost over the Ages. Much that should be remembered. Places of great influence, harmony. Skyhold was such a place. Could be such a place again, should you choose to find it, to make it your own.”Solas turned to walk back to camp.

Trevelyan uncrossed an arm, tentatively touching Solas on the shoulder, stopping him. “Thank you, Solas.”

His lower lip pouted out before he said, “I am glad to be of service.”

“No, Solas. Don’t do that!” Tired from the attack, the arguments, the climb, her eyes threatened tears. “Don’t go from gentle chiding to tired platitudes. If I am to succeed, I must hear truth, I must hear wisdom, even if it is uncomfortable.”

"I see. And I am sorry,” Solas said as he turned to face her fully.“Let there be Truth between us.”

Trevelyan looked up to the sky, blinking back tears. Her eyes glittered a little when she turned her attention back to Solas.

“ _Elvhan'inan_ ," he said in a surprised whisper."How I did not notice before? _Durgan'dor'inan,eluvian'inan_ ,

" _Elgar'inan_ ," she finished, hurriedly wiping her eyes

"You know the Words, the Language?

"When I was younger, I had a dueling master who was of the People. He said I had _Elvhan'inan_ \- the Eyes of The People - and told me the myth, repeated the line so I could learn it. Such a beautiful story of the sculptor who fell in love with his own creation, just before he entered Uthenera. I didn't know it was a poem as well."

Trevelyan met Solas’ eyes. For a moment the intensity of his gaze made an uncomfortable heat rush to her cheeks.“Your dueling master was making a pass at you, my lady," he said, a knowing smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"You can't know that,” Trevelyan scoffed. “He was always so formal, distant."

"I am quite sure, as that poem is about insatiable desire and forbidden love. The Sculptor had a human lover. He was cast out for this transgression – being unable to be with The People and be with his lover was too much for his spirit. He loved both equally. The poem is the inscription he left for his love on his tomb before he went into Uthenera. If I may?

“Please,” she said. Solas turned, lead her away from the brazier, into the moonlight.He must have known, as she did, her grey eyes would be flecked with bright sparks better seen away from the fire.He studied them, then closed his eyes and spoke:

 

_"Ma’Nuvena,_

_Ar isalan na, ma'vhenan._

_Tualathanir, isalan dera na aron tuelan_

_Isalan hima sa i'na, ma'bellanaris_

_Mala suledin nadas_

 

My desire,

I need you, my heart,

When we make love, I worship you; together we are gods

I long to become one with you, my eternity

Now you must endure

 

_Ma'ha'lam_

_Ma'vhenas, emma ir abelas, nadas daran_

_Souver'inan isala hamin_

_Daran Uthenera_

 

My end and my beginning,

My home, I am bereft, I must go

My weary eyes need resting,

I go to my Endless Dream.

 

_Ma'enasal_

_An’daran Atish’an_

_Sule sal’melana, lanan ma ma'esha'lin, al esha'lin_

_Ena'lasa a ma'las, Elvhan'inan_

_Durgan'dor'inan, Eluvian'inan, Elgar'inan_

 

My bittersweet,

My home is your home, you will always be welcome,

Until I see you again, I give you my child, our child -

Give birth to my Hope, The Eyes of the People,

Eyes of Stone-Grey, eyes of Mirrors, eyes of Spirit"

 

 _“Ma'enasal, An’daran Atish’an. Lanan ma ma'esha'lin, al esha'lin. Ena'lasa a ma'las, Elvhan'inan, Durgan'dor'inan, eluvian'inan, elgar'inan,”_ repeated Trevelyan. “Yours is such a beautiful language. The master, I had the biggest crush on him. I would have taken him for a lover as soon as I was able.” She grew quiet. "Tell me, Solas, am I wrong - the sculptor’s lover was with child?" The wind picked up, blew Trevelyan’s hair forward, across her face.

Solas seemed sad. "It was why he was banished. _Al esha'lin_ , our child, you have the right of it." He reached out and trailed his finger over the rounded shell of Trevelyan’s ear. “You have an ear for the Language.” This time the smile went to his eyes as well.

The smile was comforting, but the touch was astonishing. They stayed that way for a moment before Solas startled and stepped away from her, rubbing his thumb over his fingers.

When her voice was normal again she asked, “Do you keep to the Old Way? To your own kind?”

He turned, walked further away. “I have, yes,” he said softly. “But you do not ask for yourself, do you?”

Trevelyan began to feel the chill of the mountains. “No, not an invitation. Just curious.”

“Understandable. I know you to be generally interested in all of your companions – interested in who they are, what makes them happy.”He turned back to her, began to walk back in her direction, in the direction of camp.

Trevelyan waited for him. “Life gives us so much loss, I believe it is in our best interests to cultivate attachments.”

Solas shrugged. “Well, _Asa’var’lin_ , I’m glad we understand each other. Even as we speak, others glower, and _Mar’iriovro_ approaches,” he said with a languid gesture. “As I am now, I would not like to provoke the Venerable One.”

Trevelyan looked toward camp. It was true.Dorian and Blackwall watched at the distance; the Commander walked toward them, following their trail in the snow.

“There you are,” Cullen said when he saw their notice. “Both.” His brows pinched together. “Mother Giselle has asked for your input, my lady. Leliana, Cassandra, Josephine and I can reach no consensus. Please come back to camp?”

“Of course,” Trevelyan smiled at the Commander. “I believe I might be of assistance. Direction came to me, as I was speaking with Solas in the moonlight.” She winked at the elf.

The corner of Solas’ mouth twitched a smile. “I hope I was able to help,” Solas said, keeping eye contact even as he made a slight bow. “Goodnight, _Asa’var’lin.”_ Solas stood and turned to walk back to camp.

Trevelyan watched him go, unable to overcome the need to let her gaze linger on him.

“Herald?” the Commander asked. He seemed uncomfortable.

“What? Yes,” she took his arm, “You must help me, Commander. We should convince them to rest tonight, because in the morning, we go North.”

“North, my lady? Along the mountains?” he began to walk back to camp, Trevelyan on his arm.

“Yes. I have a feeling about it. A feeling of great peace and harmony. I am sure we will find all we are looking for, a place to gather and regroup.” She looked up at Cullen and smiled, knowing the effect of her eyes in the moonlight.

Cullen hitched a breath. “At your command, my lady.” They went a few more steps before he added, “The mountains, though difficult, will give us much needed cover from Corypheus’ forces, so long as we stay close to the tree line. I can convince Cassandra of this – it is simple tactics. This place, if it is not far, Leliana and Josephine may be more agreeable because they can prepare to contact their people sooner.”

“It is not far.” She looked to Solas, who was a bit ahead of them. “A day or two?” she questioned. She saw Solas’ slight nod. “No more. Do you think this will convince Leliana and Josephine?”

Cullen considered. “You were the one who walked from the snowstorm. I’m sure, given reason, they will come to see it as you do. I will do all I can to support you.”They had now reached the edge of camp.

“Thank you, Commander. I appreciate your help,” she let go of his arm and continued into camp, gathering the Inquisition advisors as she went.

 


	2. Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition finds shelter and more mysteries.

On the morning of the second day after her talk with Solas the Inquisition set off north again after a small breakfast, their rations simple but filling. They moved slowly, however, as the Inquisition soldiers, Templars, and mages helped the Haven villagers through the mountains. Just before midday, Trevelyan’s warhorse, Grim, became restless with the pace, so she mounted him and moved out ahead of the main band, scouting the trail, scanning the mountains for any change, any hint of man-made building. Finally, on the range of peaks one valley over her eye caught the straight lines and crenulated edges of parapets along the ridge of the mountains. As she squinted her eyes against the morning sun, she was able to see more of the keep, its forthright projection so different from the craggy mountain top.

Skyhold.

It’s thick walls jutted from a mountain peak, surmounted only by its own main keep. It had two gated towers with a long bridge crossing a gap between the peaks. It was a solid means of defense. Any large army would be forced into the open while crossing the bridge. The remains of a path to the first guard tower skirted what looked to be a wide, quiet valley with a small river running through it. She exhaled and dismounted. Now all she had to do was get the capricious stud to wait for the main group.

When they appeared, Trevelyan signaled to Cullen, who in turn called a halt. He came to her side along with Solas, her other companions, and the Inquisition advisors. She explained what she had seen.

“Thoughts?” she said, after the others were done thanking the Maker or cursing in relief.

Cullen coughed. “We should secure a camp in the valley, at least for tonight, and scout the immediate area for resources. Meanwhile we prepare to send a small force to explore and secure the keep.”

Cassandra nodded. “I agree. We are too few to stand against much serious opposition, should we find anything living or undead in the keep.”

“It is perhaps another job for the Herald and her companions?” Solas suggested. “You will need some blades and some mages both, to check for those things. That way we are not risking Inquisition troops. They can stay with the camp.”

“Given the size of the keep, I don’t like the Herald going without troops, but with our current situation, that plan is probably the best we can do,” Cullen ran a hand over his chin, his usual stubble now a beard with the past days in the mountains. “If I might suggest, Herald, take Solas, Vivienne, Varric, and Blackwall. That way the party will have a variety of magical skills, Warden senses, and someone who can work with traps and cantrips. Should things go sideways, Varric or one of the mages can send up a warning and we will follow with Inquisition regulars.”

Trevelyan nodded. “Those seem reasonable precautions. Let us see to them.”

***

The valley proved fruitful, with some fish already adding to the supplies carried from Haven, along with fresh water and some small game birds. It was hardly a feast, but it was fresh. Later, news that one of the scouts found a large herd of mountain goats to the south was greeted with rejoicing. Cullen arranged for a hunting party to leave at first light.

Then he helped the Herald unload the packs that had been placed on her warhorse. Grim had been quiet enough under Cullen’s land-based direction during the evacuation of Haven and the few days the Herald had been separated from them after the avalanche, but once she had returned so had the stud’s usually cantankerous attitude toward most two-legged creatures. Still, Grim seemed to tolerate Cullen more than most.

When they were done and he’d helped the Herald brush and care for the big stud he said, “I’ll take him for a drink, Herald. You meet with the Companions about tomorrow. You would be doing me a favor - I need some time to think and nobody will come close if I have Grim on a lead.”

Trevelyan smiled. “Thank you, Commander,” she said. “I’ll take my time then.”She patted Grim on the neck and left for her meeting.

Cullen watched from the river’s edge as Trevelyan and Solas planned with Varric, Blackwall, and Cassandra for the survey of the castle. Sara and Vivienne seemed to be listening intently, but mostly stayed out of the discussion. It seemed to be going well, with a passable diagram scraped into the mud of the riverbank and Cassandra gesturing to parts of the castle. As a Seeker and warrior, she probably had some of the better ideas. He noticed the somber Warden giving his thoughts, too, followed by Varric’s nodding and gesturing to the first tower.Varric also added some lines to the diagram. Cullen knew Varric had been a treasure hunter in his youth, so he was guessing the stocky dwarf was making some conjectures about the inside of the keep, or at least things to watch out for as they explored. 

“Commander,” the Herald gestured to him to come over, then took Grim from him when he joined them. “We think we should secure this first guard tower with your troops before we move into the castle. Do we have any bow rogues or mages that would be willing tostay in that first tower, give us cover over the bridge?”

Cullen nodded. “Aside from your own mage companions, we have maybe three bows and perhaps two additional mages that have that kind of range right now, but you are welcome to them.”

“Excellent. We organize at first light and set out for the gate tower at full light.”Trevelyan smiled at her companions and the Inquisition advisors. “And perhaps tomorrow we can sleep protected by stone walls for the first time in too long.”

 

***

Trevelyan, Varric, Vivienne, and Blackwall made their way to the stonework tower that stood as the entrance to Skyhold. The portcullis was down, with no obvious means of opening it from the outside.

“Look at this,” Varric said. “This odd lettering runs all along this rail of the portcullis.I’ve never seen their like, not even in the Deep Roads.”

Trevelyan leaned in to peruse the lettering. She removed her gloves and felt the Anchor pulse as she got closer. She ran her fingertips along the lettering until she pulled her hand back with a hiss, a small smear of blood visible on her finger tip. For a split second, the lettering gave off a dull purple glow. Then the rusty gears of the portcullis began to squeal with life, and the metal grid rose slowly into the tower, apparently of its own volition.

Vivienne sent up the agreed upon exploding snowball, signaling to Cullen to send the small cadre of archers, mages, and soldiers up the mountain path with Dorian and Solas.

Trevelyan and her companions walked into the tower, finding a large cavernous space where the wind blew constantly. The wall to the left and ahead of this first gate was thick cut stone, built to withstand war and weather. But the wall to the left was another portcullis. This one lead out onto the bridge that spanned the distance between the small peak the gate tower stood on and the mountain under Skyhold castle. At the other end, the bridge passed through a barbican and into a larger gatehouse topped with watch towers. A short search of the tower found the gears, pulleys and chains to both gates in working order, as well as a large barracks room above the entry space.The tower was topped with battlements and had a clear, 360 degree view of the valley and most of Skyhold’s defenses.

As they waited for their backup troops, Trevelyan observed her companions to check their readiness after the long journey through the mountains.Varric stood to her side, his beloved crossbow, Bianca, at the ready. The barrel-chested dwarf seemed hale as ever, stubbornly baring his golden chest hair even in the cold of the mountains. She watched as Blackwall checked his grip on his giant two-handed sword, his darting eyes belying his poised stance. He seemed young, she thought, to be the storied Warden-Constable from Cumberland, but as his battle master’s prowess had saved her neck more than once, she knew whatever his age she could trust his skills.Both of these men knew how to handle themselves, and she was the safer for it.

The Enchanter Vivienne stood with one hand holding up her staff, the other hand on her hip, the chocolate brown of her skin playing off the scrupulously clean white of her clothes. Trevelyan knew how to keep her people in the best quality gear they could afford, but with Vivienne she had also made sure it was beautiful. Trevelyan needed the powerful mage’s offensive skills. And she also knew she needed her political connections in Orlais, both aristocratic and magical. It was why what she saw in Vivienne’s face concerned her. The mage’s pinched expression was more sour than haughty as she looked at the ragged young man standing next to her. Cole, the odd boy that had appeared to warn them of Corypheus’s attack, had stepped out of the shadows of the tower only a moment ago, startling them all, even the unflappable Warden. Vivienne seemed to dislike Cole more than most of the Inquisition, which troubled Trevelyan. She would not be able to take them both out on the business of the Inquisition if she could not trust they could work together. 

Though glad for his quick blades and expert stealth for this adventure, she was surprised Cole had even made an appearance. Then she realized that with she and Dorian and Varric here in the tower, there was almost no one in the valley camp that he felt comfortable talking to other than Cullen.The thought made her smile. The boy seemed to gravitate to Commander Cullen, as if he had imprinted on the stoic former Templar from those first panicked moments at Haven.

She had to admit, there was something profoundly reassuring in the Commander’s near perfect self-possession that day. Cole had been there with her, as the Commander had made clear to her the dire situation Haven had been put into when the Elder Mage’s dragon attacked.Still, she mused, looking down the mountain at their rag-tag band in the valley, the moment an opportunity came to claim escape, if not victory, the Commander had helped her seize upon it to save the villagers and Inquisition forces – even at her own great personal cost.She’d found a way to survive, as he had suggested she might.

Any further thoughts were interrupted by Sera and Dorian arriving with the Inquisition troops. Both would be adding their skills to the Inquisition archers and mages to cover the Herald’s companions as they crossed the bridge into the castle.

Once everyone was in their places in the tower and on top of it’s battlements, the band opened the gate and set off across the long stone bridge. They approached slowly, as the wind across the span blew wickedly and they needed to be sure the stone arches and foot path were sound as they ventured across. Moreover, when they got close to the barbican, Vivienne shot snowballs against the windows and arrow slits, freezing them shut for a time. When nothing and no one fought back, they moved forward to the gate. It was much like the first gate, the strange writing that bit the Herald’s fingers and set off a purple glow. This gate too, rose of its own power, though once inside they found the very tangible gears and works and pulleys. Even the ropes were in good condition.

Trevelyan waited until her people were standing in their usual formation. “Let’s go,” she said. “To the right first, right Varric?”

“Ay. Cassandra and I agree, to the right looks lower than the left. Blackwall talked with her some more last night.”

Blackwall nodded. “Traditionally, the barracks, a stable, maybe a kitchen would be in the lower yard. We clear that area first. From their we strike out over the battlements, clear those and any guard houses or towers between the back corner and the gate. Once we have control of the left side, we send for half the troops in the first tower. This way they secure that flank and access to the gate. We control the escape routes, we can still make a retreat should there be any opposition in the upper yard or keep.”

After a careful, quiet hour, Trevelyan couldn’t feel more impressed with her companions. They had executed their plan perfectly, and were now in control of half of the castle. Another hour found them clearing the higher half of the castle, with it’s towers, cloister, smithy, chapel, barracks, meeting rooms, library, vault, tavern, and great hall. They found nothing other than broken furniture and crockery, even in the depths of the undercrofts and the prison.

The sun was just past it’s zenith when Trevelyan, her companions, and the Inquisition advisors met in the tower suite high above the cloister.

“The lack of any bandits or supernatural creatures anywhere in the castle was a little surprising,” Vivienne said as she stood looking out over the keep. “We found nothing more dangerous than spiders. Not that I am complaining, mind you.”

“It was odd,” Varric agreed. “Never been any place this old that didn’t have some sort of infestation or another. Even Darkspawn don’t drive away everything.”

Dorian joined Vivienne out on the balcony. “Oh, I don’t know. This place positively vibrates with magic; I know you can feel it Madame de Fer. I certainly do.”

“Yes,” Vivienne nodded.“But that usually draws creatures in as much as it keeps them out.”

“Where is Solas?” Trevelyan asked, finally noticing the elven mage’s absence. “He was supposed to come up with Dorian and Sera, but he never did.”

“He is being brought up in a wagon, much to his dismay,” Josephine said. “He fell ill while you were exploring the tower. Said his stomach wasn’t used to the oily fish from last night, but I’m not sure that was really it.”

Leliana laughed. “Nor am I. My people have told me about his magic. There is more to his illness than he is letting on, I am quite sure.”

“What happened, exactly?” Trevelyan asked.

“As I understand it,” Fiona said, “Solas was standing with the troops waiting to join you after you’d secured the first tower. A little before you sent up the first signal, he fell. Just sat right down. And he went all pale and clammy, too,” Grand Enchanter Fiona said. “Or at least he was when I saw him a few minutes later. I touched him for healing, and it was as if all of his manna had been stripped away at once, instead of over a large period of spell casting. He was physically and magically exhausted. I gave him what I could, but there was a woman giving birth. I could only give so much. She was nearly crowning. He ate a little, then fell fast asleep. He woke when you signaled the all clear, but he was still weak as a wolf pup. I made him ride in the wagons; he would have killed himself, trying to make it on foot. He’ll be up in the second to last group.”

“I shall have to check on him, then. I should help strike the camp below anyway. Grim will be needed for hauling. Right now he’s loose in the valley. And what of the mother and child?” Trevelyan asked.

Fiona smiled. “Just fine. A little boy. I haven’t sat for a birth in some time. Not since the war – and I used to do as many as I could. Motherhood is the greatest gift. Nothing like a baby in your arms. I hope you will find out someday, Herald.”

Trevelyan blushed and nodded. “May it be the Maker’s will, in the future. I would like to visit them, later. When we are all settled.”

“ _Ma bien sur_ ,” Fiona said in Orlesian. “They will be placed in one of the tents near the surgeon. Too much risk for the babe and the mother, among the sick and injured. Commander Cullen gave up his command tent for them. We’ve put another family with a young baby in there with them. The Commander is taking a place among the soldiers for now.”

Trevelyan sighed. “I would expect nothing less of our Commander.”

“He is a very compassionate man. Out of all the names discussed with the Divine when it came to the start of the Inquisition, his was the only one I would accept to lead our armies,” Cassandra said in her arch Common. “It is a pity she did not get to know him well. She would have liked him very much indeed.”


	3. The Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition needs a leader. Original content surrounding a well-known cut scene.

Trevelyan and Grim made a trip to the valley alone, as they had several times over the last weeks. Grim needed grass for feeding and to stretch his legs. She spent some time cutting what she could from the tall grasses in the valley and tied it into large bundles. When she had enough for a few days, if used judiciously, she whistled for Grim. She loaded him down with the bundles and they returned up the freshly wrought path.

At the second gate she was met by a stable hand, a city elf called Abel. He’d been a groom for one of the nobles that had come to the Conclave. After the explosion and the death of his master, he’d stayed on and joined the Inquisition. Grim liked him, and nickered at the sight of the small young man.

“Hullo, Grim!” Abel said. “Would you like me to take care of him for you, my lady? I can also stow the hay away, if it please you.”

“I can help, Abel. It’s not a problem.”

“Oh, ay, my lady. I know you know how to take care of him complete, but they’ve moved the young families in the tower just there, while the bridge is being rebuilt. The Commander was worried about accidents. Said the tower at least had doors and windows, and was the best place for them for now. Though you know we’ll settle soldiers there eventually. I thought you might like to see the wee babies.”

Trevelyan smiled at his words. The newest members of the Inquisition were her favorites to visit.The babies filled her with unmitigated joy, and reminded her why she was here, waging war, hundreds of miles from her own family.

She went up to the tower and spent an hour holding the newborn boy so that his mother could bathe and his father take a nap. When Zelie returned from her hot bath in the newly-cleared kitchen, the baby was just beginning to fuss for his food.

“ _Merci_ ,  _mon amie_ ,” Zelie said in Orlesian. “I have just returned in time, I see.”

“Yes, Zelie. But he has been such a good boy. You and Andre are very blessed.”

“Thank you again, Herald,” she said as she took the baby. “And now you can get back to bigger things, no? The Advisors are waiting for you in the courtyard.” From the door, Zelie gestured to Cassandra, Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen, who stood in a group near Cullen’s makeshift desk, whispering to each other conspicuously. “They have asked for you.”

Trevelyan frowned. “Did they say what they wanted?” 

“No, my lady. Just that I should let you know ‘the beast’ is settled and to send you over.” She winced as her son attached to her breast.

“Ah, so Cassandra sent you.”

She grimaced and adjusted the boy at her breast.“She caught me on the way in.”

“Very well, Zelie. We can’t refuse the Seeker, now can we?”

“ _Non_ , my lady.”

Trevelyan watched her struggle before she said, “Has the surgeon or Fiona or another healer offered you lanolin yet?”

“The old man, Ilia offered, but I didn’t take it. Should I have?”

“Yes! It’s the best thing for chapped nipples. My own mother swears by it, and she’s had eight children.”

“Heavens, my lady. I shall take your advice then.”

“I’ll send him to you, after my meeting.”

“ _Merci beaucoup_ , Herald.”

“You are most welcome, my dear,” Trevelyan said from the door. She paused there, feeling a little nervous as she walked from the deep shadow of the tower room and out into the sunlight of the lower courtyard. She hadn’t any idea what they wanted her for, but she pressed forward at the Seeker’s friendly smile and gesture.

As she approached, Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine moved away from Cassandra quickly. She thought she saw Cullen hide a smile as he strode swiftly away.

Cassandra smiled at her, and gestured to the people at work in the courtyard, the supply boxes stacked here and there. “We have only been here a week, and yet we have fresh workers and supplies daily, from all over the region.”

The two continued to walk through the busy peoples of Skyhold. Trevelyan noticed that even in the face of hard work, and the uncertainly of their position after the attack at Haven, the people were cheerful, and worked with determination.

Cassandra continued, “As you see, Skyhold is becoming a Pilgrimage. The newcomers ease our work, but so to do they make it more dangerous. The Elder One must know our location. Cullen tells me we now have better numbers and stronger walls to contest mighty foes, but this is not the fight we one thought it was – it is beyond mages and Templars, and speaks to the very foundations of our world.

But even so, our tribulations have made clear why you stood against Corypheus, what drew him to you.”

Trevelyan thought about the Anchor, the pale thin line across her left palm, and it flickered to life for a moment. “He came for the Anchor, and when he couldn’t strip it from me, he wanted me dead.”

Cassandra nodded, but then clasped her hands behind her back, as if she were talking to a new recruit who had almost grasped a concept, but not quite.“The Anchor has power, yes, but its not why you are still standing here. You gathered contacts. You worked to build our influence.You chose the mages as our allies, and proved that by working with them we could heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven, even in the face of the Elder one and his dragon. You are the Creature’s rival because of what you did. And we know it, all of us.” 

Cassandra looked around at the people in the courtyard, who now seemed to have put down their work and moved toward where Cassandra and Trevelyan stood on the steps to the Great Hall. “The Inquisition requires a leader: the one who had already been leading it, you.”

“Perhaps I didn’t hear you correctly. A noble rogue at the head of the Inquisition?” Trevelyan scanned the crowd, the expectant faces reminding her of that morning on the mountain, when they sang for dawn to come as they were lost in the mountains.

“Not just any rogue, or anyone of noble birth. _You_.”

Leliana stepped down from the entryway of the great hall carrying an enormous greatsword with a dragon that wrapped around it’s hilt. The blade was both breathtaking and dangerous, with a soft gleam that hinted at ancient enchantments. She bowed her head and offered the sword to Trevelyan with both hands.

The sight of the mighty weapon filled Trevelyan with awe. “But I _am_ a rogue, and a noble, Cassandra, not a warrior or battlemaster. Are you all sure I’m the most proper person? I have – baggage. I have a past. A past that would make a pirate blush, if it were widely known.”

Cassandra lifted an eyebrow at that. “I can’t pretend no one might object eventually, but these times require adaptation and flexibility. The Maker is perhaps at work remaking the world with your actions. Whatever your past, there would be no Inquisition without you. This is Troth, Blade of the Inquisition, and like the Inquisition, how it will serve Thedas, how you wield it, and for what purpose, that must be yours to decide.”

To Trevelyan it seemed the sword was humming with portent. She reached a hand out tentatively, as if to warm her palm on it’s radiating power. She trailed her fingers on it, thinking. 

Then she grasped it and said,“Corypheus must be stopped, however tattered my faith.”

Cassandra and Leliana shared a look, then Cassandra whispered, “Wherever you lead us, Maker bless us all.” Then Cassandra drew to attention and looked for the ambassador, raising her voice to ask, “Have our people been told?”

“They have!” Josephine answered, stepping forward. “And soon, the world will hear it!”

Cassandra turned to Cullen, who was now down among the people in the courtyard. “Commander, will they follow?”

Cullen stepped forward, pacing in front of the gathered troops and followers. “Inquisition!” he barked, “Will you follow?”

The crowd bellowed their affirmations.

Cullen raised his fist at their noise. “Will you fight?” he asked.

The crowd roared their assent, as Cullen raised his other hand. “Will we triumph?” Cullen continued as he reached for his sword. “Your leader, Your Herald,” his sword rang as he pulled it from it’s sheath and turned to her, “Your Inquisitor!”

At first taken aback at the noise of the hollering multitude, Trevelyan hesitated, but then stepped forward firmly and raise the giant great sword over her head.

The crowd roared.

Cullen and Josephine joined Cassandra, Leliana, and the new Inquisitor on the landing. Then Cullen gestured to the Great Hall above them. Trevelyan turned and walked up the stairs to the doors of the hall, and flung them open, Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine at her back.

 


	4. Times Gone By, Old Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old friend from Kirkwall visits Cullen and avoids Cassandra.

“Commander, Ser,” said Ser Gervais, a Templar. “A message for you. From a mage, Ser.”

“Thank you.” Cullen took the note from the aide without looking up. He finished his calculation, then opened the note.

 

_Curly!_

_Dammit man, it’s good to see you, even if it’s from half-way across the castle. Do your old friend a favor and bring your fine self and some food up to see me? I’m up top of the tavern, hiding from the Seeker._

_Hawke_

“Blimey!” Cullen said, then quickly dashed off one more note for the stonemasons before setting off for the Herald’s Rest.Cabot, the new tavern keep, was more than happy to come up with some cold fare for the commander.Didn’t even blink when he asked for enough for two meals. The bread, summer sausage, cheese, some dried fruits and ale were simple, and the best the castle could do right now. It was all they had managed to haul with them from Haven. Still, the scouts out hunting daily were able to bring back some fresh game. They had made some contacts with Orzammar for other supplies, and a merchant caravan was already heading up from Jader. Fresh supplies were mere days away, and the path down the mountain was being improved and - Cullen stopped himself from falling down that Fennic hole. He thanked Cabot and taking the basket up over his arm began the climb up through the Herald’s Rest, the empty barracks, and out onto the battlements.

He was surprised at how happy he was to know Garrett was safe and at the castle. As he climbed the final stone steps, he saw the mage standing in the far corner of the interior tower. It was impossible to tell if the burly mage was hiding from or peeking down on the Seeker below him in the practice yard.

“You stood up to Knight-Commander Meredith in Kirkwall, but Cassandra has you hiding?” Cullen asked as he topped the stairs. “She is really a remarkable woman, the Seeker, once you get to know her. Great capacity for forgiveness and magnanimity.”

Garrett smiled. “So you say, my friend, so you say.”

Cullen crossed the tower top. “Really. The night before we left Kirkwall with the Inquisition, Varric bought me a shot of Ancestor’s Stone. Wicked stuff, mostly for dwarves as it has lyrium in it – kind of a last hurrah for me as far as lyrium and Kirkwall were concerned. Anyway, I was – not myself after that. The Lady Seeker helped Varric get me to the ship for Jader before the tide, and apparently, I was a little inappropriate with her. After a period of embarrassed groveling, she forgave me.”

Garrett looked skeptical. “When, exactly, did she forgive you?”

Cullen set the basket down in the crenel next to Hawke. “Last month, just before the Herald brought the mountain down in an avalanche,” Cullen deadpanned.

Hawke boomed with laughter and hugged Cullen. “You will have to tell me more about that story later! Come now, Curly, it can’t have been easy facing that Seeker and explaining why you relieved from duty, then killed your commanding officer and sided with a bunch of mages. I am sorry for that, by the way, running off. I hated to do it, to leave you and Varric holding the bag, as it were.”

“We could take it, Hawke. And don’t think we didn’t know who was sending the supplies to Darktown and putting down the little skirmishes outside of our reach. Avaline was always helpful; she seemed uncomfortable allowing the guard to take credit for all of your good work.” Cullen gestured to the nearby tower. “Let’s find someplace out of the wind were we can sit and eat. I know just the place. And after we’ll get you a bed in the mage’s tower. Cassandra never goes there.”

Garrett retrieved his staff from where it leaned on the parapet. “Show me the way. As an ordinary human, this wind is murder on my hair. Unlike some poncy, pomaded persons who always look perfect.”

“How many times to I have to explain? It’s Orlesian beeswax and some other stuff. And you don’t have curly hair, so you know nothing about it. This stuff changed my life,” Cullen teased as they walked to the tower and settled down at a table. Random debris and broken furniture still filled the space. “I’m sorry about the mess. I’m putting off having it cleaned out in favor of the more significant repairs needed elsewhere in the castle.”

Garrett looked around the tower, at the cobwebs, the dust, the worn wooden beds and other useable and unusable furniture. “Reminds me of my first place in Kirkwall. But it’s out of the wind, so it’s an improvement. Just don’t try to get me to use that bees’ whatever nonsense.”

Cullen handed Garrett a small loaf from the basket. “Fenris likes it.”

“Fenris only said that to make me jealous.” Garrett crabbed.

Cullen snorted. “How do you think he get’s his hair like – his hair? Elven magic?”

“No. Really?” Garrett laughed.

“You’ll have to ask him,” Cullen’s smile was smug. “Where is your better half anyway?”

“As I knew there might be trouble with the Right Hand of the Divine, I left him home to prevent him from having to kill her for killing me. So he is moodily ensconced in his dilapidated mansion. He’s promised to start repairs while I am gone – at least to the outside so the neighbors stop some of the complaining,” Garrett said as he used his dagger to slice the sausage. “I wanted him to move to my mansion, but he likes his space.”

Cullen picked up a slice of sausage. “Probably wise. One of the Herald’s new companions is a Tevinter mage from a noble house. A good man, though. Saved the Herald’s life in Redcliffe. But I know how Fenris is about mages. And nobles.”

“You two are remarkably similar in those things my dear Cullen,” Garrett said. “Anyway, I have business here with you and the Wardens. And Corypheus apparently.” Garrett sounded tired. “I thought we killed him once already.”

“Now he is all of our business, both the Inquisition’s and the Herald’s.”Cullen frowned for a moment, wanting to ask about Corypheus, but let his friend eat. As Garrettran a hand over his black goatee Cullen noticed a few grey hairs that hadn’t been there the last time he’d seen his friend. It made him wonder about his own.

After finishing half the small loaf and most of the sausage, Garrett pulled the horn cups out of the basket and uncorked the ale. “What’s she like, this Herald? Isn’t she The Old Trevelyan’s daughter, of Ostwick? The youngest?”

“Yes. She was at the Conclave as the family representative, along with the Circle and Chantry delegations from Ostwick.” Cullen paused.

“Did she really come out of the Rift at the hand of Andraste after the explosion?” Garrett asked.

“Yes,” Cullen looked right into his friend’s eyes. “It’s all true; climbed right out of the Rift with the Mark of Andraste. It can close rifts or tears in the Fade. The Mark was fairly unstable at first, but Solas seems to have fixed that problem.”

      Garrett whistled. “Is she really as pretty as they say?”

“Haven’t you met with her yet?”

“Not yet,” Garret said. “She sent a message earlier that she would meet with me tomorrow afternoon, on the battlements, where you found me. Now tell me all about her – the bit about her eyes. That can’t be true.”

“No, that’s true too. She is very pretty, beautiful even. She’s just not fussy, like some women, about her appearance so I think most people don’t notice. I only noticed the eyes the other night. Normally, they look a warm grey – rather like Fenris’ eyes. But in the moonlight, they glitter a little. They are like nothing I’ve ever seen before. In total, she is like no one I have ever met before. Once the Mark was stable, she turned the ruins of the Conclave and the Chantry at Haven into a rally point for the Inquisition. Worked with us to build the reputation of the Inquisition and acted as a beacon to those who would join us and follow her example. Some of the fighting between mages and Templars in Ferelden had already been subdued, I might add, before she freed the mages from Corypheus’ grasp through some complicated time-magic. And came back with intelligence. Then, with our new mage allies, she re-sealed the Breach so that instead of a hole spewing demons and spirits, we now have that faint green scar. The Inquisition was well on its way to restoring order, at least before Corypheus attacked Haven and the Herald dropped a mountain’s worth of snow on the village to stop him from killing the people.”

“Careful, Cullen, or I might think a flesh and blood man lived under that armor, instead of an aloof Templar. You’re ruining my fantasies of you as the perfect, beautiful, frigid Knight-Commander.”

Cullen gave Garrett a sad smile. “I hate to disappoint you, but I am no longer a Templar, no longer Knight-Commander, if I ever really was. I left the Order when I left Kirkwall.” Cullen rubbed his neck. “Though I will not say that what you say is completely untrue. But, if I am – thawing – it is your influence, so blame yourself.”

“My influence? You jest! I have NEVER been accused of being a good influence on any kind of Templar before. Mostly I just infuriate them or confound them because they can’t catch me.”

Cullen grinned. “Joke if you must, but it _is_ your fault. Your mastery of your magic, not to mention the love you share with that mage-hating warrior elf. You set an excellent example of a life well-lived.” Cullen looked down, toyed with the crust of his own loaf.He realized he wanted to tell Garrett the rest. “Let me say this, Garrett. I have learned well it’s better to say what you mean, when you can, or you might not get the chance later.”

Garrett was speechless, but nodded to his friend.

“I watched you, listened to you, over the years. Compared you with the mages at the Gallows. Saw how happy you were, how fulfilled. Even the years Fenris pulled away from you. You were still together. Still brothers-in-arms. Still mostly happy. And not a demon in sight. Finding that, it seems worth a little defrosting. A little effort. Maybe even a little pain.”

Garrett sat up straight. “If that is the case, I am honored to be your better spirit,” he said, just nudging Cullen on the arm with his own.Then he let loose a belly laugh. “I know it’s not really me, but I’ll take the credit. Now tell me more about the enchanting creature that is stoking your long-dead fire.”

Cullen sighed.Laughter was just Garrett’s way. “It’s not just banter, Garrett. I watched her close the hole in the sky seemingly with her bare hand. She was unlike any mage I have ever seen work. It was only partially magic – I could feel it – it was mostly her will.Sheer force of will. And the way she sent the civilians and troops from Haven and stood against that monster for us all. You’ve stood against him, you know what it is like.”

Garrett sipped his drink. “Ay, and I had four of the most dangerous beings –human or otherwise - in Kirkwall at my back; we still barely made it out alive.”

“In that moment, as she strode away from me and toward that creature, I knew, I had to shake off Kirkwall, shake off my past,” Cullen blew out a breath.“I had not seen it in myself before that moment. I was dead already. I had been ready to make the Red Templars work for our end, to be sure, but ready to fight and die well.

“The Herald made me see I had to find something more – I had to be ready to fight and to live.Live to fight another day. And another day. And another day after that, if that were required.”

“She brought you back to life, my friend,” Garrett said.

“That she did,” Cullen said. He rubbed his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Now I just have to figure out how to best use this castle and the forces of the Inquisition to keep her alive. To keep our cause alive.”

“Well, Curly, as you are perfection itself, I’m sure you will have little trouble with your martial duties. And as she seems unlikely to be intimidated by a choice specimen like yourself, you will have ample opportunity to prove just how perfect you are, I am sure.”

Garrett’s knowing smile irritated and confused Cullen. “What are you talking about Garrett? She is the Herald of Andraste, I owe her my allegiance, my respect, my faith. More than that now – she’s the flaming Inquisitor.”

“Yes, yes, soldier-boy. Keep to the command structure, absolutely.May it be that she is the type to know exactly what to do with someone like you.Just be sure not to miss the dragon for the dragonlings.”

Though Cullen had never been bothered by his friend’s insouciance before, this time he found the teasing about the Herald of Andraste grating. Cullen narrowed his eyes at his friend.

Garrett’s laugh boomed out into the tower room. “Never mind. Let’s see if we can’t get Varric up here with some cards so you can lose what is left of your pay to me.”

“I haven’t gotten paid.”

“Even sadder. I’ll get Varric to loan you some – or we can work out a trade?” Garrett gave Cullen a slow lusty look.

Cullen laughed. “Thank you, no. You don't have to sleep alone, but you can't sleep with me. I like the way I’m put together and will take no chances with your lyrium-infused lover. Can’t we just drink too much and get Varric to tell us some completely untrue histories?”

Garrett pretended to consider his choices. “You may be right.”

Cullen smiled in amusement. “When will you ever learn, mage? I’m the Commander, I’m always right.”


	5. A New Strategy Requires Information from Old Sources

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Establishing Skyhold and setting the agenda for this stronger, more established Inquisition and their new Inquisitor. The Inquisitor begins to draw out Blackwall, the taciturn Warden, while Cassandra and Varric clash over old grievances.

As the sun neared it’s zenith, Trevelyan closed the wooden door that would keep a tired and freshly washed Grim in the stall and left him to eat his hay. She had needed the ride to let go of some of her tension over her new title, and to think about the options laid out by her advisors the day before, and her upcoming meeting with Varric’s contact.

She spoke briefly with Horsemaster Dennet about Grim’s shoes, then walked into the barn proper. Blackwall was sitting in a chair whittling a piece of wood. Next to him on the table was the body of what would be a finely carved rocking griffon – the symbol of the Grey Wardens.

“Thinking of a new career?” she asked.

“Just sumthin’ to pass the time,” he said. “The Inquisition seems to have more children around than I would have thought. Sumthin’ to please ‘em, since the world seems bent on causing ‘em harm.”

Trevelyan admired the workmanship as she passed her fingers over the wooden foreleg. “A talented hand and an admirable cause. This softer side is a pleasant surprise, Blackwall. Good to know you’re not always duty and honor and sacrifice.”

Blackwall smiled, “No, not always, but mostly. I have,” he stopped. “I have a lot to live up to, with the Wardens, and present company.”

“I’m not exactly in the same league as your ancient and venerable order. Wardens choose that life. I’m here because I was the least busy of all of my siblings.”

“What’s that now?” Blackwall asked. “You could make the world tremble, if you had a mind to do it.”

Trevelyan leaned back on the table. “No, really. I was Ostwick’s representative at the Conclave because I was the only one of my siblings who could spare the time. My sheep and goats had finished breeding; I have good stewards and seneschals, while my brothers have actual roles on the family estates and in the government. I am Herald and Inquisitor by happenstance.”

Blackwall stopped what he was doing and looked up at her. “No. No you’re not. You’re Inquisitor because you inspire people to act, like convincing a solitary Warden recruiter to put his skills to better use. I know what it is to make people join up. Most of the Grey Wardens I recruited were seeking forgiveness or penance. Their choices are worthy, right? But yours are even more so. Your actions, and the people you move, aren’t inspired by regret.

“Look at the Templars. Commander Cullen strikes me as a man who has seen too much, but I would be surprised if he joined them out of anything other than faith and a desire to help people. Now he gets up each day and works for your cause because he has faith still. I’d have him at my back anytime, and twice more than most.Take for example Madam de Fer,” Blackwall sneered. “Our Vivienne, she is only here because she seeks power and influence, not because she believes in the cause. To her, restoring order means going back to the way it was, because she understands how to work that system.”

“Hmm, yes.” Trevelyan thought about the differences between Cullen and Vivienne. “As you say, Vivienne is well connected. It’s why we needed her at the beginning of this, why we need her still, and why we will continue to need her for the foreseeable future. Orlais is a dangerous place to play the game, especially the game of thrones, without allies. I need her - how do I say it?”

“In the tent pissing out?” Blackwall offered.

Trevelyan laughed whole-heartedly. “Exactly, yes. Thank you, Blackwall, for that bit of home wisdom. Sometimes I miss the Marches. We’re so much more likely to cut through the bullshit than the rest of Thedas.”

“Anytime, my lady,” Blackwall said, and went back to his carving.

Trevelyan reflected on Blackwall’s steady presence, here and on the battlefield. He rather reminded her of her brothers, especially her eldest brother. “Can I ask for your advice?” she queried, prompted by this happy association.

Blackwall nodded. “Of course; I almost never get asked these days.”

“It isn’t a slight. Cassandra and Bull have been great out in the field, however, both tend to scare people up close. I’ve been leaving you at the castle because for now I need you here with Cullen training the raw recruits. But given the drubbings we’ve taken as we start the Emprise campaign, I promise, I’ll be calling on you more often. Like now. I’d like to tell you what my advisors and I talked about yesterday after they made me Inquisitor.”

Blackwall blew the shavings off of the rocker he held in his hand. “I’m here,” he said, looking up at her and smiling softly. “Whatever expertise I have is at your disposal.”

She acknowledged his offer with a nod. “We think the Venatori are extremists, and that Tevinter isn’t planning any sort of full scale invasion of the South. There would be more troop movements, more organizing, in Tevinter if it were, and Dorian says even the egos of the Magisters wouldn’t get them into a war on two fronts. It’s all they’ve been able to do to keep the Qunari at bay.” 

She took a deep breath, remembering Blackwall’s haunted, red-lyrium corrupted features from the horrific future she and Dorian experienced in Redcliffe. Dorian’s old mentor, Gereon Alexius, had come to Redcliffe at Corypheus’s behest, in an effort to enslave the there and use time magic to undo the mistake at the Conclave so that Corypheus could again try to claim the Mark for himself. “From the time-travel incident with Alexius, we know Corypheus plans to kill the Empress Celene and bolster his army with demons. We’ve gotten rid of the Venatori horrors haunting the ramparts and quieted the fighting on the Exalted Plains, though there are still skirmishes between the forces of Empress Celene and Duke Gaspard. Still, nothing like it was. We had originally planned to focus on Orlais first, but now,” Trevelyan stopped.

“But now?”

“At the meeting Varric brought us some new information. Now Leliana is pressing us to find the Wardens again. She says they’ve been missing in Ferelden for some time, that you are the only trace we’ve had of them since before the Conclave. She had almost given up hope until Varric said he could put us in touch with someone who’s got connections to the Wardens in the Marches. Apparently the contact may have away of getting in touch with a Warden who’d been investigating corruption in their ranks. You wouldn’t know anything else that might help, would you?

Blackwall put down his carving. “No, not a thing. My role and preferences keep me out of Warden strongholds, out of communication for the most part. I preferred it that way, until the Inquisition. Sounds like this contact might be worth it, if Leliana wants it. I wouldn’t want her mad at me.”

“Are you afraid of the Nightingale?” Trevelyan teased.

“Nouh,” he said, making the word two syllables, like they do in the north of the Vimmark ranges. “But I’d like to avoid a knife to my kidneys, just the same,” Blackwall answered with a wry grin.

“She can be a little bit scary, or so I’ve been told. Seriously, do you think we should refocus our energy on Ferelden again – on Crestwood – or should we stay the course on Orlais? Vivienne has finally gotten a hint of an invitation for the Inquisition to attend the peace talks, but now I’m not sure which way to turn,” Trevelyan said.

Blackwall nodded. “What does Cullen say?”

“He says he’s not enough of an expert on Orlesian politics to really comment, though he will say we‘ve got enough troops and time to at least scout out Crestwood and find out why it’s gone quiet before we leave for Orlais,” Trevelyan answered. “I’m inclined to go in that direction, but Leliana is breathing down my neck about the Wardens, especially those in Ferelden. She wants to stick with this until we’ve found them all, I think.”

“And Lady Josephine?” he asked.

“She thinks we should stay focused on Orlais altogether, now that the Hinterlands are under our total control and the Coast lands are quieter. The local nobility and the Blades of Hessarian are keeping the peace up there, for now. She argues that Ferelden is not the total mess that is Orlais and we should stay out of it. It’s the sovereign’s prerogative, she says.”

“And what do you think? You’re the Inquisitor now, and you’re above being swayed by a pretty face. Why did you want to go with Cullen’s idea?” Blackwall checked the curve of the rocker again, and then resumed carving without looking at her.

Trevelyan watched him draw the knife over the rounded wood before she answered. “Because of how he put it – ‘it makes the most of our resources without spreading us too thin’.Besides, if we investigate Crestwood, establish a foothold, and then head to the peace talks at Halamshiral, Leliana’s people in Ferelden can reconnoiter quietly while we are gone. Keep the Venatori guessing what we’re up to and how much we know. That time that Dorian and I spent in the future gave us an important advantage. Right now it’s our only advantage. We’ve got nothing for that damned dragon, or Archdemon, or whatever it was.”

“Well, it seems you’ve made up your mind then. Make a quick foray into Crestwood while you’re awaiting the formal invitation to the peace talks. Seems like good sense to me,” he said with a nod.

“You give me no advice of your own?”

“Nah. I’ve seen you work. You follow your own judgment best - after you’ve had advice and a good think. I trust you. ’You are who you follow.’ Someone told me that once; took me years to figure out what that meant.”

“Powerful counsel. Who was this person to you?”

“He was nobody to me, only a true knight, a chevalier, and a powerful nobleman. He helped me win the Grand Tourney, disregarding his own interest in the prize because, as he said, I needed it more. Then he offered to take me on and train me. But despite his help, his kindness and honor, I turned him down flat, in my youth and stupidity,” Blackwall said, a look of disgust on his face at his own behavior.

“Oh, Blackwall, we all make stupid decisions when we are young. If we didn’t we’d have nothing the regret and nothing to remember in our dotage,” she commiserated. “If you’d followed him, your life might be different, but…”

“Not necessarily better; I am aware. Jus’ sometimes it’s hard to keep that in mind.” He stood and dry fit the rockers onto the ends of the griffon’s legs, giving the piece a few wobbles while watching the rockers work. “Still, my choices have led here, to the Inquisition, and though I regret many things, I do not regret that.”

“Good,” she said. “Everything looks well in order here, and I want to grab some lunch before my meeting. Care to join me?”

Blackwall hesitated. “Uh, I’ve still got some work to do on the feathers, and I’ve training this afternoon.”

Trevelyan fingered the griffon’s beak. “Josephine will be meeting me. You should come, too.”

Blackwall frowned, but Trevelyan could read in his face he wanted to see Josie. “I can make it an order, if you’d like.”

Blackwall cracked a grin and set down his tools for good. “Nouh. I’ll come. Save the orders for Cullen.”

***

Trevelyan left Josephine and Blackwall to their own conversation when she excused herself to attend the meeting with Varric’s contact. They’d been quiet at lunch, but not silent. They clearly liked each other, but had little of common interest. Blackwall knew enough to ask a lot of questions, and Josie had been eager enough to answer them. Trevelyan silently wished them well.

As she crossed the upper courtyard, Cassandra called out, “Inquisitor!” and stormed toward her from her usual spot near the smithy.

Trevelyan changed directions, walking to meet the most storied woman of the Inquisition. Even at her most bellicose and least rational, Trevelyan admired Cassandra, she always had. When Cassandra was eighteen, songs about her saving the Divine Beatrix and becoming the Hero of Orlais were all anyone heard in the streets and pubs. Trevelyan’s distant cousin had written an account of the events, and had gifted a copy to her on her fourteenth birthday. There in Cassandra’s Song, Trevelyan had found a role-model, a woman of noble blood who had scorned the traditional role of women in Nevarra and become a warrior, a Seeker, a hero in her own right. While she had long ago learned that Philliam’s writings were not to be trusted, she had had the privilege of learning the essential truth first hand. Cassandra Pentaghast was a force unto herself, and backed up convictions with actions, absolutely. Seeing her in full blaze was, as always, awe-inspiring.

Thankfully, Leliana had warned her that Cassandra might be very angry – her actual words were ‘Cassandra is going to kill him’ - about whomever Varric’s contact might be, so she knew she had to address this before things got more hostile. 

“What is it Cassandra?” she asked calmly.

Cassandra pulled herself up tall, and took a conciliatory tone, “Have you met with Varric’s friend yet, Inquisitor?”

“No, I was on my way just now. Why?”

“Because if it is who I think it is, I will wring that little bastard’s neck,” Cassandra spit out.

“Who do you think it is?” Trevelyan asked, more curious about this friend with each bald threat.

Cassandra gesticulated aggressively. “Someone Varric claimed he couldn’t get in touch with, someone we needed. Someone Thedas desperately needed.”

Trevelyan frowned; perhaps this was more than just a rivalry between her companions. “So if this is who you think it is, you see this as a betrayal to the Inquisition?”

“I will reserve that judgment until you have met with this friend. No need to have that podgy little rogue screaming ‘persecution’ or causing other trouble for the Inquisition again until I know for sure.”

Trevelyan nodded. “Seems fair enough. I shall take that under advisement and let Varric know of your displeasure.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” Cassandra said with a bow, and headed into the smithy, no doubt to retrieve her sword and knock some recruits about.

Trevelyan sighed and walked up the stairs to the inside parapet near the mages tower slowly. She caught sight of her destination, and took in the easy camaraderie between the mage and Varric. Clearly, they knew each other very well. Well enough that Varric had hidden him from Cassandra but had brought him to her. She would have to think about that later. The mage was a fine looking man, slim but fit, with jaunty black hair and beard. He was maybe a little older than she was, and seemed to exude a contagious good humor. His energy seemed familiar, too, but she was sure she’d never met this mage.

Varric saw her approach and waved her over.“Inquisitor, this is Garrett Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall.”

“Varric! You’re lucky Knight-Commander Meredith is already dead, or she’d probably kill you just for reminding anyone of that,” he said as he held out his arm for her to clasp. “It’s not a title I find useful anymore. Not like Inquisitor, or anything.”

Trevelyan clasped his arm and smiled. “You’d be surprised about that, I think. And in any case, the Inquisitor would be grateful for the help of the Champion of Kirkwall.”

Garrett shushed her and looked around conspiratorially, “Better keep it down, with the whole Champion thing, Inquisitor, or the Lady Seeker might strike me dead before you get to question me.” 

Trevelyan couldn’t help but laugh. “Very well. Please, call me Trevelyan then, and I shall call you Garrett.”

Garrett grinned. “Well, Trevelyan, how can I help?”

“We need to know what you know about Corypheus. Everything – anything. We have nothing other than what Varric has shared about him and his ties to the Grey Wardens. We’d like your perspective.”

Garrett sighed and gave her a half-smile. “You have heard about what happened in Kirkwall? How it all ended? I couldn’t keep my friends from fighting. I’m not sure my advice would be sage or sensible.”

“Well now, Garrett, maybe I’m looking for a cautionary tale, a sort of what not to do.”

Garrett looked at her strangely for a moment before booming out a laugh and looking at Varric. “I can see now why you’ve stayed, Varric. She’s a treat!”

“What can I say, I’ve got to find out how this one ends,” Varric answered.

“Or you’ll just make up something more fitting.” Garret winked at Varric. “Just be sure to put in a good word for Curly, eh? He could do with a happy ending.”

Varric shot him a look and gestured with his hands. “All in good time, Chuckles, all in good time. Nocturne here knows what she’s doing.”

Trevelyan took a deep breath, hoping her cheeks weren’t getting too red. “Gentlemen, while this is all very amusing, and in a simpler time I might have enjoyed playing along to whatever little jests you both could get up to, the fate of the world is _actually_ in the balance. Corypheus has already killed the Divine. And we know he has plans for the Empress and all of Thedas, so can we focus please?”

Both men sobered at her words. “Apologies, my lady,” Garret said.

“Sorry, Nocturne. Business first.”

“So,” Trevelyan said, “you fought Corypheus?” 

“Yes, and I thought we’d killed him, too. Though with less flare than dropping a mountain on him. We used magic and weapons. I guess just the wrong ones. When we came upon Corypheus, he’d been imprisoned by the Grey Wardens, but was somehow pitting them against each other, influencing some of them to do his bidding.”

“It was like he could get in their heads and mess them about,” Varric added.

“You say the Wardens have disappeared?” Garrett rubbed his beard. “They might have fallen under Corypheus’ control, Maker forbid, like the ones in Kirkwall.”

Trevelyan messaged her forehead. “So in addition to the Venatori, and the Red Templars, and a huge fucking dragon-thing, he might also have the Grey Wardens? Fan-fucking-tastic.”

“Ah but wait, I have played Wicked Grace with Varric before, my lady. I have an ace up my sleeve - a friend in the Grey Wardens, fellow by the name of Stroud. He was already working with me when he stumbled on something that made him concerned about corruption in the Warden ranks. I haven’t heard from him since he sent me that last communication, but he told me where he would be – an old smuggler’s cavern in Crestwood.”

Varric nodded. “I’d call Corypheus a whole lot of corruption in the ranks.”

“But if you two didn’t know about the Elder Mage, what were you investigating?”

“Two years ago Meredith Stannard, the Knight-Commander of the Kirkwall Templars, went mad after being – poisoned or influenced - by a sword made with a chunk of red lyrium. She’s the one that provoked the final fall of the Circle at the Gallows. If it hadn’t been for the dashing Knight-Captain Cullen, the entire garrison of Templars would have been lost or sullied by her madness, not to mention all of the mages, man, woman, and child, slaughtered in an Annulment of the Circle. Nearly all of the adult mages died in the fighting, but the children and most of the Unharrowed apprentices were saved. Cullen and I spent the next months trying to stabilize Kirkwall and move those young mages safely out of Kirkwall. But as news of the events in Kirkwall spread, almost all of the other Circles faced uprisings. Few Circles wanted anything to do with Kirkwall mages, and roving bands of mages were hardly the place for traumatized children.”

Varric smoothed his hair and adjusted his ponytail. “Cullen had his hands full just trying to maintain order in the City. And as far as I knew, that chunk of lyrium was an anomaly. We’d pulled it out of some strange ruins years before. It was the only one of it’s kind, we thought.” He continued to frown.

Garret continued. “I wanted to get to the bottom of the red lyrium. I needed something to explain the events beyond Ander’s actions. He was a Warden, and an apostate in Kirkwall; he’d had nothing to do with the Kirkwall Circle. So I went to the Wardens to help me sort out this red lyrium and make sense of what happened. They’re contacts among the dwarves and other races were most valuable.”

Trevelyan walked to the parapet and leaned on it, looking out over the courtyard. “Corypheus had Templars with him at Haven. He’d corrupted them with red lyrium, enslaving them. Some were little more than monsters. And the Emprise, the Emprise,” she left off, hanging her head.

Varric shifted uncomfortably, “We’ve had reports that red lyrium is growing out of the ground in the Emprise, like some kind of disease. And the Red Templars there are even more formidable than what we faced in Haven. It’s like he’s getting better at the corruption. But our information on the red lyrium – where it comes from, how it works - is spotty at best.”

“With luck, Stroud can give us some more information. Something to start on, at least,” Garrett said.

“If Corypheus has gotten to the Wardens too, we might not be able to save them,” Trevelyan’s head slumped forward. “This could be so much worse than we thought. I don’t even know what to tell Leliana and the other advisors.”She kicked at the stone of the parapet.

“Whatever is going on, I want in, Inquisitor. I am in this until the end and beyond,” Garrett said fiercely. “He’s my responsibility now, my family’s responsibility. I thought I’d killed him once; I won’t make that mistake again. This time, I’ll make sure he’s gone forever.”

“I am sure you will,” Trevelyan said absently. Below them, in the yard, she’d watched the conversation between Cullen and Cassandra as they’d come out of the smithy.Cullen seemed confused and Cassandra angry. Cullen had looked up at the parapet and gaped, causing Cassandra to turn. Upon seeing her and the man behind her, Cassandra stormed towards them, only just escaping Cullen’s last ditch grip to stop her from flying towards them. Cullen quick at her heels.

“We will speak more later, Garrett. Right now, you better go hideout among the mages. Come, Varric,” Trevelyan said, “Or we might find a Cassandra shaped hole in your chest. At least with Cullen there, we have half a chance of stopping her.”

 


	6. Dreamwalker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas gets an unexpected visitor to his dreams. Meanwhile, Trevelyan begins to understand and enjoy her new role.

     Trevelyan stood on her balcony in the cool moonlight and watched Cullen and Garrett interact with the soldiers just entering the new tavern; the Herald’s Rest, she believed it was to be called. It was one of the things Trevelyan appreciated about Cullen, his habit of talking not only to his command staff, but to the rank and file as they went about their daily activities. He wasn’t especially warm or friendly, just sincere in his interest. It reminded her of her mother and father.

     Trevelyan had accompanied her parents as they made their rounds on the estates in Ostwick since she was a girl. They used to tell her how you could see a leader’s quality from whom the leader talked to, which people got their attention. She had followed their example on her own estates, at her own court. Now that she was the Inquisitor, as well as the Herald of Andraste, she needed to do the same thing with her people, when she could.

     Tiredly, she turned and went back into her quarters. She laid down on the bed, fully clothed. She would rest a minute before seeing to the after-action reports she owed her advisors. Cassandra and Cullen both thought it important to keep track of the work of the Inquisition. And she needed notes of her thoughts after the meeting with Garrett, and the argument between Cassandra and Varric - she closed her eyes. After a few minutes she gave up trying to sleep and wandered down into the Great Hall to talk to Varric. Debris still filled the length of the hall, but fires had been lit, scaffolding put up; work had begun on restoring order, now that they’d claimed more quarries and logging stands. Earlier in the day dwarves and humans had built the scaffolding together. Varric had helped with that a bit, easing the introductions among the various stone masons and praising the skills of both sides.

     Varric just that day had taken up a spot at a table in front of the main fireplace, and seemed to be making it his perch, but he wasn’t there. However, she did see a light coming from under the nearby doorway, the one that lead to the tower library and rookery. She entered silently and observed her elven mentor for a moment. She looked to his desk, covered in books and papers, and to the fresco supplies he had asked for and received just that day. He was lying on his couch, staring at the stone wall, preoccupied with his thoughts as he tapped a slim finger to his lower lip. It seemed a favorite gesture; Trevelyan did not yet know if it was conscious or not. It drew attention to one of his best features, his generous lips. Trevelyan had been distracted by it on more than one occasion, but she generally admitted that his elven beauty was hard to miss. Even his bald head seemed to add to his allure; in her experience, male elven mages didn’t go bald until they were very powerful and very old indeed. It made her wonder how old he was, and what secrets he must be keeping from them all.

     Finally she strode into the room saying, “My governess had a word for people like you – _distingue_. _Très distingue_ , she would have said.”

     He turned to her and raised an eyebrow.

     “You are lucky. This phrase from my governess was high praise indeed. You seem always to be exactly where you mean to be, never flustered or caught off guard. So calm. Reassuringly confident. It must have taken you a long time to cultivate.”

     He gave her a short smile. “Not so much time as experience,” he said. “Although time helps.”

     “I hope I am not disturbing you,” she continued, noting he hadn’t really answered her. “When I saw your light on I was hoping we could talk.”

     This time his smile went all the way to his cool blue eyes, and he stood. “You are full of surprises. Let’s go somewhere more interesting. After you,” he gestured to the door to the bridge, currently under construction, and Trevelyan followed him. 

     When they passed the threshold of the outside door, the night was so dark Trevelyan couldn’t see. Gradually it brightened, and they walked through the village of Haven.Trevelyan felt a rush of emotions as she looked out at the deserted village. Sadness, joy, purpose, each flitted through her, bringing the start of tears. “How odd to be back here.”

     “It is familiar to us both; it’s a good choice,” Solas paused just ahead of her. “Haven will always be important to you.”

     He walked on. She followed in silence, letting her gaze linger on the huts and houses that had been so central to her, to the Inquisition. They continued into the place they had first met, the dungeon below the Chantry in Haven.

     “I first saw you here,” she said. “I woke up for a moment and you were sitting by my side.” 

     “Yes. I sat by your side, studying the Anchor.” His expression was inscrutable.

     “Were you watching over me?” she teased. “What did you make of what you saw?”

      He looked away from her and to the cot where she had slept, a faint blush coming to the tips of his ears. “You were a mystery. You still are,” he said. “I searched the Fade. I ran every test I could think of, to discover how to stabilize or remove the Anchor. Cassandra suspected duplicity in us both. You she imprisoned here. Me she threatened with execution for being an apostate - if I didn’t produce results.”

     Trevelyan smirked and caught Solas’ eye. “Cassandra is like that with everyone.”

“So she is,” Solas laughed. “So she is.”

     They stood for a moment, looking at each other. Both looked away toward the bed in the cell, the torch light playing over them. Just as she had when she first opened her eyes to Solas, Trevelyan felt a wave of emotions. Confusion, fear, attraction each took turns in her chest. She turned to the door. Solas took the hint and walked out of the dungeon.

     As they came out of the Chantry Solas said, “I thought you were never going to wake up. How could you? A mortal sent physically through the Fade? I was frustrated and frightened. The Breach had sent all of the spirits I would normally have consulted away. Though I wanted to help, I had no faith in Cassandra, nor she in me. I had very nearly made up my mind to leave and find a safer place to work to seal the Breach.”

     Something about Solas made her want to find his buttons, to make him react in genuine emotion. “And where would you have gone, Solas? The Breach threatened all of Thedas.”

     The corner of Solas’ eye twitched, perhaps in amusement. He waved an elegant hand. “I never said it was a good plan.” He turned to look at the Breach.

     Trevelyan followed his gaze, looking up at the Breach, the grey and green clouds swirling in the sky. The sight of it struck her as wrong, as something that shouldn’t be. She looked away, even as Solas continued to look at the miasma over their heads.

     He raised his palm to the sky, saying “I told myself, I would make one last attempt to seal the rifts, to heal the Breach. I tried and failed. No ordinary magic had any effect on them. In despair, I watched the rifts expanding across the south like cracks in a mirror. I’d resigned myself to flee, but then, on a whim I took your hand and held it to that first rift, and I _felt_.” He stopped, composed himself. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.You had sealed a rift with a gesture, and right then, I felt the whole world change.” 

     She looked at him. His eyes were closed, his head still tilted toward the sky. “The whole world change?” she whispered before she could stop herself.

     His head dropped and he looked at her. For only the flashest of flashes his expression was raw with desire before his normal neutral façade fell into place. “Just a figure of speech.” He tried a small smile as a bluff.

     Trevelyan’s eyes narrowed with her smile. “I’m familiar with the metaphor; just surprised by the ‘felt’.”She wondered at herself, at him, at the thumping in her chest. It was the same uncurling of desire she’d felt with Solas in the moonlight that night on the mountain. “You keep to the Old Way. You said so yourself,” she baited him.

     “You throw me off so easily, even here,” Solas murmured. In a gruff whisper he said, “You change - everything.”

     She felt a subtle shift in his stance, in his will. It was an invitation.“But I am not descended from Arlathan,” she protested, though the sensation was unmistakable. Solas had bid her to his arms. Her mind dismissed it; her body reached for him. She stole a kiss before he could much react, then stepped back in wonder at her own actions.

     Even more surprising was the dazzling response of the elven mage. He shook his head, but reached for her, kissed her. His generous lips were smooth, wet; his tongue tasted of a magic so old it made Trevelyan’s knees weak. She slumped in his grasp. He caught her, but she also felt him break the kiss, push her away. She opened her eyes and looked at him in shock and desire. He exhaled, shaking his head again even as he pulled her to him and their lips met once more. Now the kiss was tinged with wildness, tasted of madness. This was sheer folly! She raised a hand to his jaw and pushed, even as she responded to the kiss, feeling equal yearning and foreboding. 

     Her gesture seemed to free him, too. He backed off, whispering, “We shouldn’t. This isn’t right. Not even here.”He caught his breath, as did she.

     He was flushed right to the tips of his ears, she saw. She knew what she must look like. This couldn’t continue. This whole conversation felt as if something was off. After a moment she said, “What do you mean, ‘even here’?”

     He smiled at her, his flush draining away, all his conflict gone once they were no longer touching. “You closed the Breach weeks ago. Haven’s been under at least ten feet of snow since Corypheus’ attack. Where did you think we were?”

     She looked around, hugging herself. “I’m dreaming. We’re - dreaming. This – this isn’t real.”

     He stood up taller. “That is a matter of debate, though probably better discussed after you- wake up.”

     At his command, Trevelyan sat straight up in her bed in the tower. She was on top of the covers, still clothed, just as she had been when she thought she had laid down to rest.

     Blessed Andraste, she thought. Have I been dreamwalking? Her dreams had always been vivid, but she had never shared a dream with anyone before. It wasn’t supposed to be possible for a mundane dreamer to cross over to another’s dreams. She was shaking and sweaty; she wanted Solas.

     No. She wanted to talk to Solas, but the heat in her loins told her that would be unwise. Images of her fucking the enigmatical mage on the sofa in his tower flit through her mind. She fell back on the bed. “Well, shit.”

     After a few minutes she roused herself, pouring water into her large kettle and setting it to boil over the fire in the fireplace. Then she undressed in the moonlight. She ran exploring fingers along her sex. She was as hot and swollen as if the kissing had been between corporeal beings. She wasn’t even sure she liked Solas, for all his wisdom and allure. He’d stabilized the mark. He’d fought at her side. He’d gifted her Skyhold like some doting lover. But she knew little more of him now than she did months ago – except that she confused him and his lofty keeping to the Old Way. 

     It had been far too long since she’d been with a man, longer than was good for her. It had also been too long since she had found her own pleasure. Sharing a makeshift tent with several others in the mountains had put a damper on that. With their arrival at Skyhold, Josephine had demanded she take these quarters at the top of the tower, as the Herald of Andraste and ranking noble, over her initial objections. As she sat on her couch nude, running her hands over her fevered body she was glad she had relented. When she caressed her still overheated sex, the feel told her she was not only aroused, but at her fertile point. No wonder the dream had turned risqué. Though she and the elven mage would have had difficulty conceiving, it wasn’t impossible. She knew she was fertile. As for Solas – his magic tasted powerful enough. A pregnancy now – too complicated. And scandalous. She sighed, knowing these thoughts only sprang from her need for release.

     She started to use the memory of Solas’ kisses to bring herself pleasure, but as she closed her eyes her imagination instead conjured up another lover. One who had sparked her desire even in the first mad days in Haven after the explosion at the Conclave. One whose motives she’d never doubted. She imagined her fingers were his fingers, and then that they were his tongue. She moaned under her own touch. She pinched her fat nipples, arching her back. Then she pulled her long legs up to her chest, edging ever closer to coming undone. Her imagination had her running her fingers through his blond hair, mussing it’s perfect curls, pulling his nose and mouth into her wet pussy. She whined and squealed, her release fighting her despite her previous arousal. Finally, as her body went ridged with pleasure, she whimpered, “Cullen.”Trevelyan felt limp and languid after her orgasm.

     Then the kettle whistled in the fire. She groaned, but got up and moved it to the side of the hearth. Then she readied the wash tub and a larger jug of water. As she poured the boiling water into the jug, warming the water enough for a bath, she was glad that she’d allowed herself the simple luxury of a private room. She washed her hair and body in the firelight, enjoying the scent of her soap as it bubbled up along her skin. She sat by the hearth, writing her reports, letting the fire dry her skin and hair before slipping on her one night gown and getting beneath the thin blankets of her simple bed. She would need heavier things once winter came, but for now it was enough. With the bath and the pleasure and the work, she was finally able to fall asleep, even knowing an awkward conversation was coming in the morning.

***

     The light woke her first, followed by singing coming from below.She was warm and dry and in a bed. For a split second she nearly thought she was at home at Ballie NaLeanan, in her own bed, until she noticed the coarse cotton of the sheets and the threadbare blanket. She knew then that she was in her quarters in Skyhold, and the singing was the Chantry sisters who’d taken up residence in the cloister below.

     Trevelyan rose and prepared for the day, though she left her hair down in hopes it might help hide her embarrassment. She knew she had to find Solas, first thing. She made her way to the tower and entered his room.

     He looked up from his book when she entered. “Sleep well?” he asked, facial expression neutral, but his voice warm.

     “I did, actually,” she said, blushing at her thoughts of the Commander. “But I had some odd dreams, some very odd dreams,”she whispered, not looking at Solas but at his book.“I did enjoy they way they ended though.”

     Solas cleared his throat but remained silent.

     She hugged herself, rubbing her elbow. She looked up at him through her messy black hair. “You wouldn’t be the first _hahren_ I’ve been inappropriate with, I’m not sorry to say.” She smiled, hoping her little joke would dispel some of the awkwardness.

     He chuckled. “No _Dor'inan_ , it is I who should apologize. The kiss was impulsive and ill-considered, but am I not the esteemed elder? I should not have encouraged it, should not have returned it, as I did.”

     Trevelyan smiled at the handsome elf.“Funny, that’s just what my dueling master said when I kissed him. Though we kissed in the flesh. And he did not kiss me with tongue.”

     Solas’ generous lips curved into a smile. “Well it was a dream; one could argue our kiss never really happened.”

     “Ha! If Fade tongue doesn’t count, perhaps I should have pushed for more?” she teased.

     To her surprise, Solas’ blue eyes twinkled, but his tone was serious. “It has been a long time. And some things have always been easier for me in the Fade.” He sighed and stood up taller, ”Regardless, I am not certain this intimacy was the best idea. _Mar ir’iovro ise mar vhenan, Dor’inan._ It will just lead to trouble.”

     “Agreed,” she said hastily, relieved he’d given her the opening. “Best simply to be friends.”

     “Thank you. I appreciate that; it is the sweet sacrifice of duty. Though I will treasure a dream I once had, of _ma ina'lan'ehn falon_ stealing a kiss from her _hahren.”_

     “ _Ma serannas,_ Solas.”She dipped her head.

     Solas inclined his body toward her slightly. “ _Dareth Sharil_ , Inquisitor.”

 


	7. Maiden Steps

After her conversation with Solas, Trevelyan was almost relieved to get on to the heavier duties of being Inquisitor, though first she went to check on the babies and families who were still living in the tower. As she chatted with parents and snuggled and burped babies, she finally noticed several small wooden griffon toys among the young families.Blackwall’s hands had been busy indeed.

Bolstered by snuggles and baby fingers and baby toes, she then ventured into the lower courtyard to visit the surgeon’s tent. She was humbled by what she saw in the tents. So much suffering for their cause. She had to ensure these sacrifices would not be in vain.

Cole sat with one man, clearly beyond the reach of magic and medicine, and listened to him whisper about his home and his family. Cole seemed to shift a little, and the man whispered, “I can smell my daughter’s hair. I – I’m home.”As Trevelyan watched, the man relaxed into death.

“You did that?” she asked Cole softly.

“Yes. He was fighting it, and he would have been scared, when he left. This way he was ready to go onwards. He won’t be a ghost now,” Cole said in his soft, lyrical voice. “I thought I was a ghost once. I did the wrong things then. But I made friends, I learned. I am learning. I try to make better choices now.”

“Have you been doing things like this since you’ve been here, since you came with us from Haven?” Trevelyan thought of the boy, and how he seemed to pop up in unexpected places.

“When I can, I help. Small things mostly. Sometimes I do things and people don’t seem to understand.”

Cullen came over from his desk where a crowd of her companions and advisors stood. “Excuse me, Cole,” he said with a nod, then turning to Trevelyan asked, “Inquisitor, a moment?”

“I’ll talk to you later,” she said to Cole.

“Probably,” he replied, making her smile and shake her head as she walked to Cullen. Cassandra, Solas, and Vivienne huddled around his desk.

“That thing is not a puppy that just followed us home. It is a demon, and should leave or be destroyed,” Vivienne said.

Cassandra nodded. “I agree he might be a danger, and is certainly mysterious, but he has done nothing that calls for his destruction, Vivienne. So far it seems he is no more or less dangerous than a mage.”

“In some ways Cole has abilities that go beyond those of a mage, though he does not wield magic like a mage. He has shown himself to be more of a spirit,” Solas said.

Vivienne crossed her arms and scoffed. “As I said, a demon.”

“Demon is such an imprecise word, Madam de Fer,” Solas said, waving his hand in the air as if dismissing Vivienne’s contention.

Trevelyan realized they were talking at cross purposes. “Solas, you say Cole is a spirit, but he has a body, he behaves in many ways as a human. How can this be?”

“Is it possession?” Cassandra asked.

“No, it seems he has created this body as if out of magic,” Solas replied.“In this Cole is unique. Moreover, he wants to help. The Inquisition could do worse than work with a spirit of compassion.”

Cassandra stood up straight. “Then we have nothing to accuse him of at this time, especially since the Templars here have found no fault with him.”

“How can that be true?” Vivienne asked. “I should like the Commander’s own opinion, Lady Seeker.”

Trevelyan watched as Cullen crossed his arms and studied the boy, who was now sitting next to another young man, holding his hand, and looking as if he was about to cry.The surgeon was leaning over the man, checking under a bandage and shaking her head. 

Cullen took a deep breath before he answered. “The Templars have felt no threat from him, though he does make the senses tingle. Like Cassandra, I believe we must judge him by his actions, if as Solas says, he is functioning as some form of human now. He helped us save a lot of people at Haven, Vivienne. And through the mountains he never left Brother Roderick’s side, no matter how the man moaned or railed against the pain. Cole carried him, in the end. I believe he helped keep Roderick alive long enough to get us across the Summer Passage, to see us through until we were reunited with the Herald in the mountains. If he is a spirit, then what a sympathetic spirit he must be. Like the mages, Cole is being watched by our Templars, and neither they nor I would hesitate to act in the face of a clear and present danger. He is just another charge, as all the mages are, present company included,” he said with a look that made Vivienne shrug and Solas smirk.

Trevelyan hid a smile. “Very well.As the Seeker is neutral, I shall have faith that the Templars can and will do their duty. For my part, Cole may choose for himself, whether to stay or go. Far be it from me to expel compassion from my service.”

Cullen and Cassandra saluted. Solas gave a slight bow. Vivienne stalked off in a swirl of silks and muttered Orlesian.

“Cassandra,” Trevelyan said, “could you let Josephine and Leliana know I’m ready to meet in the War Council chambers, I’ve come to some decisions about how to proceed, now that Skyhold is more settled and repairs here have begun.”

“How long shall I say?”Cassandra asked, seeing Trevelyan eyeing Cullen, who now stood at this crate-top work space.

Trevelyan ran her hands over her messy hair, smoothing it back into a ponytail and tying it with a leather cord. “I have business here in the yard, but not much. Two candle marks?”

Cassandra made a slight bow. “I’ll tell them four,” she said, turning away before Trevelyan could stop her.

Trevelyan thought for a moment to start after her, but she knew how it would look. She could not be seen arguing with her most famous and respected general this soon after she’d take the mantle of Inquisitor. She bent and adjusted her boots to let her blush subside, then stood and walked to Cullen.

“What news on the reconstruction, Commander?” she asked.

Cullen looked up and smiled at her. Maker, he did have the most beautifully warm brown eyes. She looked away, squinting at the scaffolding already in place.

“Inquisitor. We capitalize on the resources of the valley and our allies, my lady. I’ve worked with Gatsi to make a plan for the repairs, according to severity and usefulness. We need only the materials.”Cullen seemed to think better of his words almost immediately, adding “But, what you’ve already brought in is considerable. Haven was a pilgrimage village; it should have been a place of peace. You helped us set up as best we could, but Haven was no castle keep. And it was just dumb luck we had the trebuchets where we did - we were training on them just before Corypheus attacked. Even with preparation we could have done little against the archdemon, or whatever it was; what can you do against a dragon?”

“I’m not sure, to tell you the truth, but I have faith we’ll figure it out,” she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.

“Thank you, my lady. I have already set some of our people to do research on the subject. Leliana and Josephine have already reached out to other researchers across Thedas. Now that we have a seat of power like Skyhold, we can perhaps attract some new talent - we already have our eye on a renowned Arcanist. With training, repairs, and fortifications, Skyhold will be a keep of legend. The Inquisition will have no need to run from here - I will see it done, as a matter of honor.”

“I have no doubt you will work to make it so, Commander,” she said. “When I woke up after the avalanche, I focused on the idea of you, of all of you miles away, or at least beyond the reach of the Elder Mage. That fight was,” she looked down, afraid to continue lest she burst into tears. “It was,” she tried again after a few deep breaths. “Well, I was shaken, to my foundations. Humbled by the gift the soldiers that stayed with me gave the villagers, daunted by the responsibility you had taken on as you lead them out of Haven. I felt so inadequate to the task, with so many people to protect.”

Cullen looked away, letting his gaze linger on Cole and the young man at the surgeon’s tents. “It never gets easier, losing people in battles,” he said softly. For a moment, Trevelyan saw the beginnings of tears in the commander’s eyes. “Still, sometimes a good death, a quick death, is an honor. And sometimes a mercy.”Cullen gave a slight nod, then he frowned down at his desk and shifted some papers.

Trevelyan saw Cole move over the young man. Cole made eye contact with her and showed her his small dagger. The surgeon had told her the soldier's stomach wound was festering. The mages could do nothing now, the wound was too old; some of his stomach organs had already died. Trevelyan too, gave a small nod. Cole moved so quickly, she doubted the young man felt anything but release.Trevelyan squared her shoulders. “H-How many did we lose at Haven?” she asked, her voice almost calm.

Cullen looked over at her; he straightened up and crossed his arms. He studied her face. To Trevelyan it seemed he was judging whether she wanted the truth or not. Finally he said, “There were loses. You saved Seggrit, but his burns became infected and he died of fever while you were lost. Threnn, the Quartermaster in Haven, she was injured severely, and will be returning to Gwaren, when we can arrange it. There were other injuries among the soldiers and villagers. But most of our people made it out of Haven. Lysette, a Templar, was especially grateful for your help getting out, and has pledged her active service to us, as has Mattrin. Morale was low while we were in the mountains, but has improved greatly since you found Skyhold and accepted the role of Inquisitor.”

“I was astonished when they presented me with the sword. But I’ve known since the night you found me in the mountains that I would be bound to the Inquisition. What’s harder to take is the faith everyone seems to have in my leadership. It’s a lot to live up to - I hope I am worthy.”

“You have more than proven yourself, my lady. Cassandra was correct, you had already been leading us for quite some time.”

Trevelyan waved a hand in embarrassment, then placed it on his arm. “Thank you Cullen, for the compliment. For the plan at Haven. For not fighting my choice to stay and getting the people out. Some men would have argued more - or forbidden it.”

“I tried that once, with you,” Cullen said with a wry tone. But looking at her, his face fell into serious lines. “I should never have doubted you. In doing so I risked offending our lady Andraste. Your return from Redcliffe chastised me. And gave me faith. I shall never doubt your return again. Your armies will protect you, ah, protect the Inquisition, without question, your Worship.”

They met each other’s gaze for a moment, before Trevelyan could see him collect himself. She moved away a little, to ease the awkwardness.“Thank you, Commander. I’m just glad that you got out, that you got so many of our people out before the avalanche.”

Cullen saluted, fist to chest, but before he could say anything else, a booming laugh could be heard from the doors to the Great Hall, catching both their attention. Garrett Hawke and Varric were just coming out of the Great Hall with Dorian, the Iron Bull, and Crem in tow. They headed for the tavern.

Trevelyan observed Cullen, as he watched the group go by above them. She saw a look of what appeared to be genuine affection cross his face.. She had seen the Commander and the man she now knew was Hawke together several times over the last day or so. It only took her a moment to remember that they would have been in Kirkwall together, these past few years. Given the Champion of Kirkwall’s activities, and Cullen’s position as a Templar officer, they must have known each other there. These thoughts prompted her to ask, “Did you leave anyone behind in Kirkwall?”

Cullen shook his head, “Except for Varric and Garrett, and Garrett’s boyfriend Fenris, no. Not really. I made few friends of any kind in Kirkwall.”The men stopped for a moment, while it appeared Garrett finished telling a punch line. They all fell into loud laughter again, and continued down the steps and out of sight.

“How can that be? No one special enough to catch your interest?” Trevelyan said before she shut her mouth and blushed in embarrassment.This man and his deference, not to mention his pretty face and tantalizing form, seriously rattled her brain.

Cullen flushed, but for just a flash she thought he looked a little smug, before his face once again fell into his normal neutral facade. He simply said, “Well, not in Kirkwall.” 

“Oh,” she whispered. They stood for a moment, not looking at each other, until Leliana stepped out of the Great Hall and waved to her from the steps.

Cullen cleared his throat. “It appears the Nightingale beckons; we are late for your first War Council here at Skyhold. After you, your Worship,” he said, and gestured for her to head up the nearby stairs ahead of him.

Under the Nightingale's cool gaze, she turned and left for the council without a word, knowing he would be at her back.

 

 

 

 


	8. Discriminating Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen tries to sleep after the first War Council at Skyhold, but old memories haunt his dreams. Ever wonder what happened between Cullen and Warden-Commander Amell?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The italics are meant to indicate dreaming, but only when the dreamer is aware that it is a dream. Partial italics stand for words in other languages, or emphasis.

It was well after midnight when Cullen finally made it back to his bedroll, now laid out on the stone floor of his office next to a small coal brazier. His command office had been cleaned out for a day or so, but there were repairs to his personal quarters that would have to wait, as wood was in short supply. He was impatient to get the barracks habitable so that the courtyards could be cleared of tents and the stonework begun in earnest. Skyhold’s walls were in need of rebuilding and repointing in several key places. He could already hear his grandfather muttering about concrete and the rock type and the temperature of the mix, on and on.

Cullen was exhausted but hadn’t relished sleep since he was a young Templar.Still, he knew rest was required if he was to be at his best. Be at his best for her, he thought.His heartbeat sped up a bit.

“Dammit, man. What are you thinking?”he whispered to himself as he struggled with his armor. “She’d no more think of you than she would a sword or a shield.”And yet.

And yet she had flirted with him several times in Haven. The questions about Templars and whether they took vows of celibacy alone had him glad of his armor that day and on several others when he’d watched her at the council table. Just a few days ago, the look on her face as they talked about the escape from Haven plucked at his chest. He’d wanted to take her in his arms and breathe in the scent of her hair until they both stopped trembling.

He fell into his rack heavily, suppositions on the Inquisitor’s soap preferences floating him off to a fitful sleep.

_***_

_Despite the hooded, grey velvet robe that prevented him from seeing a face, he could tell the apparition was a woman. The Grey Lady, he called her, as this entity had touched his dreams before. She first appeared not long after Ostagar, the very night after he was rescued from Kinloch Tower. Then again a few times when he was at Greenfell. He’d always wondered if she was a spirit or just an apparition from his dreams. Whatever she was, he’d never felt nervous about her intentions despite his Templar training, and she’d never tried to follow him or linger. Indeed, she hadn’t talked to him much and never offered a bargain. He had always found her soothing, if exhausting. She was always making him think, making him relive hard memories.And yet, afterwards the pain of those memories seemed dulled – if only enough to breathe. The Grey Lady was the only reason he’d been able to rest at all that first night, after he’d been rescued from Kinloch Tower. He’d fallen into a fitful sleep, helped along by a sleeping draft; she appeared. She asked him about Bevan and Farris, what had happened to Annalise. He’d heard her sobs as she watched his dream memory. She’d told him how sorry she was for him. Told him he was so brave, so loved. Told him to be strong. Promised him that he would be loved again, that she would watch over him. Bade him sleep even there in the Fade as she watched over him. When he’d woken he was still exhausted, but the night had been otherwise dreamless._

_Blast it, Cullen thought when he saw the cloaked figure. He didn’t have time for one of the damn dreams tonight. He was already exhausted, mentally and physically._

_“Come,” she said as she held out her hand. He took it and they walked through the mists of the Fade. Fighting the dreams took energy he couldn’t afford to expend at the moment. Soon he recognized the time and place._

_The Harrowing that night had been unexpectedly difficult. The mage in question, Vereheren, had been predicted to pass easily, given his steady abilities and open, gentle temperament. The Templars and all the Enchanters expected his safe return from the Fade. Moreover, Vereheren had been a family friend from Honnleath, so when the soft-spoken mage had been overcome by a powerful Rage demon, the battle was both startling and grim, testing the faith and the skill of the young Templars the most. Cullen didn’t need to call on deep memories of the battle; it was one that often came back in unwelcome detail._

_“Not the battle, afterwards, in the baths,” the grey-hooded lady nudged at Cullen’s dream memory. At her suggestion, Cullen focused on the washroom in Kinloch’s Circle Tower. It was something he hadn’t thought about since his early days in Kirkwall._

_Cullen remembered the baths as one of Kinloch’s few absolute joys, enjoyed by Templars and Mages alike. His mind began to conjure the baths in his dream. Built into the very bedrock of the island, the baths had smooth stone basins that were always overflowing with water from an artesian well; the magical fires under the basins glowed warmly so that the air felt moist and warm on the skin and steam hung in the air. Some basins were raised so that the water fell over the sides as a shower. Others were waist height and a few were low tubs. One niche in particular was always steaming, and had deep carved stone benches around a hot spring pool where aches and strains could be soothed without magical relief. Templars could be very superstitious about magical healing._

_He’d been slow cleaning himself up after that battle, as he did not feel much like the intense meditation that usually happened after a Harrowing. He watched himself stand naked under the falling water in the washroom afterwards, scrubbing congealed blood and other things from his neck, shoulder, and hair._

_His hair had been much longer then. It curled in small waves to past his shoulders, kept from being too unruly by its own weight. The bright red burn that snaked from his collar bone up his neck and cheek, as well as the bruises on that same side, were making cleaning it difficult. He’d dropped his shield a little bit, and had taken the edge of a fire blast across his profile. He had some thoroughly singed hair and a_ _searingly painful burn_ _to show for his cockup, as well as tenderness that would become bruising on his shield side from the blast._

_Tymper and Paulsen, the Templars who caught the full blast, were both lying atop funeral pyres already, waiting for the dawn. Cullen had counted himself lucky to have little other to show from the battle than some burns and bruising. The fresh lyrium still pumping through his veins dulled the pain, at least for the moment. He never liked to go to the healers until he was clean._

_As he recalled, Bevan walked out of the steaming niche wrapped in a linen towel and took the sponge from him. “Och, it’s a shame you’re going to have to crop that hair, eh Gorgeous? The ladies of Kinloch are going to cry a river in the morning. Even Anders didn’t have a head of hair like that spun gold,” he said, a deep Ostwickian accent burning in his speech. Bevan dropped the sponge and gently massaged away the demon blood that had been splattered on top of the burns along Cullen’s neck with his long fingers._

_Cullen hissed as Bevan brushed over his burns, then eyed him warily. “You should be gloating, not sympathizing. You’ve always thought my hair was folly,” Cullen groused. “Besides, Fade take my hair. It’s the burns that hurt. Not that I don’t deserve them, dropping my shield like that.”_

_They stood, facing each other, mostly naked in the steamy room, as Bevan took a long look at the burns. Both men were flushed from the lyrium and the battle; arousal thickened their gleaming bodies. Bevan slid his hand up the unburned side of Cullen’s neck and into his hair, pulling hard enough to bow the taller man’s neck as he looked at the burns._

_“They are starting to blister. See one of the healers before you come to the barracks. But even if you scar, you’ll still be pretty,” Bevan teased as he gently let go of his friend’s hair. Then his face became more serious. “Just be careful if you let your lovely young apprentice heal it for you, Luve, Greagoir has noticed you two giving each other the cow eyes again.”_

_“App- Apprentice? What apprentice?” Cullen sputtered._

_Bevan snorted and crossed his arms. “Pull the other one. You know I speak of the flame-haired girl. She’ll probably wait for you on the balcony, knowing there was a Harrowing last night.”_

_Cullen smirked. “You can only mean Red.”_

_“Annlise and Farris are concerned about what might go on between you and your alluring ‘Red’. That kind of dalliance, while understandable, would be unwise. You’d be better working your way through those new Templars from Gwaren. Annlise says all of them have asked about you.”_

_Cullen stood up straight squared his shoulders. “I know my duty, Bevan. She is a mage. I am a Templar. It is forbidden.”_

_Bevan placed his hand on Cullen’s cheek and ran his thumb across his lips. “My dear friend, it doesn’t matter if she’s a mage, not really. Mages are people, after all. Rules be damned if you both felt love, real love. You could always get transferred to Ostwick or Rivain, where they’re not so strict. What I mean is that one is still too wrapped up in her own fears and desires to be any good at sharing yours. She has strong potential and a kind heart, but right now she is still only a foolish, Unharrowed girl.”Bevan leaned in and rested his forehead against Cullen’s as Cullen absent-mindedly caressed Bevan’s backside._

_Cullen nodded, “I will be careful.”_

_“Sure you will. If she’ll let you,” Bevan said and kissed Cullen’s unblemished cheek. “Come up soon, Gorgeous, after you are healed; Annlise is no doubt going to be too much for just Farris tonight – she’s been insatiable for the past few weeks, now the sickness has passed. I might even make a guest appearance with them._

_“We all liked Vereheren. You should be properly comforted for making the killing blow; being Hallowed is not a joke. Besides, mages will be coming to bathe soon, best be gone,” Bevan said as he wrapped himself in his Templar kilt and walked from the washroom._

_The hooded lady intoned, “What else do you remember?”_

_Cullen recalled watching his dearest friend go, but still not being ready to meditate yet. He wrapped himself in one of the linens from the pile and walked into the steam niche. He poured several ladles of water onto the hot rocks; steam billowed up until the room was so cloudy he couldn’t see the washbasins outside. His side had begun to ache, but he sat down and leaned into the warm rock. He closed his eyes instead of seeing the healers. He must have fallen asleep, yet all too soon an image of Vereheren’s twisted and abominated body rose up in his mind’s eye. He knew he could have ended Vereheren before he fought the Templars, before his flesh became abominated. Verry just couldn’t quite do it – a moment more, he’d thought, and Verry’ll defeat the demon. At the time, he had still learning to use the extra senses being Hallowed had given him, at least in terms of Harrowings. He had felt but not recognized when his friend had turned completely, not until it was too late to act to preempt his old friend. Guilt upon guilt._

_As he dreamed, the steam was starting to clear a little so that Cullen could see someone standing near one of the showers. It was a woman, wearing an open apprentice robe. He could see the swells of her pert breasts and the fluff of her mound; she had soft curves and red hair. It could only be one woman – the lovely, doe-eyed Red. She slipped off her robe and tossed it onto a nearby shelf. Then she splashed into the water, closing her eyes and letting it sluice down her body. She ran her hands over her breasts slowly; soon one hand snaked down to her mound and between her legs. She moaned softly at her own touch._

_Then she opened her eyes and saw him watching her through the steamy haze of the niche. She shrieked softly and scrambled into her robes as she barked, “Who is that? Show yourself! You Templars are supposed to be gone!”_

_Cullen tried to jump up to apologize, but the pain from his bruises and burns made him grunt and sit back down. Cullen leaned forward on the bench, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He felt a little lightheaded. He took a deep breath before he said, “Sorry I startled you, Red, but I_ was _here first.”_

_“Ser Cullen?" the young woman queried._

_“Yes. I did not mean to take so long, I meant to be gone, but I’m… I’m not at my best right now.”_

_She clutched her robes about her, but did not stop to fasten them, walking cautiously through the steam and into the niche._

_Cullen lifted his head from his hands and looked at her._

_Her gaze traveled from his burns to the welts that would be bruises on his arm and trailing down his ribs to his hip and beneath his towel, “Maker’s Breath!” she exhaled and went quickly to his side._

_Cullen put up a hand to stop her, but she brushed it away, saying brusquely, “Don’t move!” as she examined the bruises and burns on his face and torso. Then she traced a finger over the edge of the towel where it covered the bruising on his hip. “Let me see the rest,” she whispered bossily._

_Cullen said and did nothing. She loosened his wrap, exposing his hip but he managed to keep his stirring manhood covered with the end of the towel still in his lap. He was trying not to think about her lovely, damp body, barely covered and only inches from his._

_She trailed the fingers of one hand over his hip and thigh as the other held her robe closed. “This won’t do at all,” she murmured. She tapped her lip with her finger, then she nodded to herself. “Very well. We have no healing potions down here, and you should heal as soon as possible. You must lie down. Let me heal you.”_

_Cullen shook his head no. He didn’t trust his voice or his body right now. The lyrium lingering in his system was affecting his senses. Her touch was electric, whispers of pleasure tingling over the bite of his injured flesh. He regretted not having gone to the healers and then to mediation with Bevan, to bed with Farris and Annlise. Almost._

_“You are in no position to argue,” she said imperiously. She gestured with her free hand. “You will scar if the burns aren’t healed magically; any scars will prevent free movement and hinder your sword swing. You have bruising already - you might even have injuries we don’t know about. Lie. Down.”_

_Cullen shook his head again. “I can’t, Red. You are,” he paused searching for words, “too close.” He tried breathing deeply to calm down, but that hurt his ribs. His cock strained against the towel in his lap._

_The young woman looked concerned and confused for a moment, however, she stood, backed off, and straightened her robes. “I am not going to hurt you, Ser Cullen. You must know that by now.” She looked down. “You matter to me. Please, be reasonable. Let me heal you.”_

_Cullen knew he should leave. He tried to stand again, but pain and nausea made him sit back down. “Fine, but there will be no lying down.” He moved so that his injured hip and side were toward her, and shifted the towel to better cover himself. He pointedly did not look directly at her._

_He recalled seeing, out of the corner of his eye, one side of her pretty mouth twitch at his modesty. She placed one hand on his left thigh and the other on his abdomen, just over his belly button. Cullen could feel her call her magic. The lyrium in his blood began to sing as her magic penetrated his body. He cried out in pain at first, but then, as his body healed and she began to run her hand up his thigh and over his hip, the pain turned to pleasure. She ran her hands up his chest and shoulder, then down his bruised shield arm. As his cries turned to moans, Red quelled her magic and pulled her hands away._

_Cullen slumped further to the side, breathing freely now that his ribs were no longer bruised. When he had caught his breath enough, he said, “Thank you.”_

_She smiled and smoothed her wet hair off her face, “You are welcome, but I’m not done. I have to restore my mana before I heal your face. I wouldn’t want to mess up the prettiest part.” She fumbled in her robes and pulled out a small vial of lyrium. She drank, closing her eyes to concentrate._

_Cullen recalled sitting up and leaning back against the wall, momentarily distracted by the contrast of her deep red lashes against the pale snow of her cheeks. He deliberately refocused his attention on how she gathered her will, waiting for her mana to return._

_Cullen remembered thinking about what he knew of her. Assured and assertive, she was popular among the apprentices and good to the Tranquil. Yet she was also obedient to the Enchanters and Templars. His Templar skills told him she would be a powerful mage, if she passed her Harrowing. She had a tendency towards bossiness, and was a bit cavalier with decisions in a way he did not care for, but Maker, was she lovely. In his heart of hearts, he knew he loved this winsome woman – probably mostly because it was forbidden._

_Still, Bevan was right, he didn’t know her deeply. Cullen had come to Kinloch from the Denerim Chantry House not quite two years ago. Look at how well he had known Vereheren and yet the strong, soft hearted mage had fallen to a Rage demon, of all things. The burns he still wore on his face were evidence that maybe one could never really know another person. Or at least a mage._

_The apprentice opened her eyes and looked at him. The expression in her heavy-lidded eyes made Cullen’s breath catch. She stood and walked toward him; as she did her robe slowly slipped open. She took his face in her hands, brushing his hair back off of his face. Then she carefully called her magic._

_As he felt the painful pleasure of the healing process begin again, he tried to look anywhere but into her open robes as she stood in front of him. He closed his eyes, but his lyrium-heighten senses responded to her scent; she was also aroused.Her right hand skimmed from his collarbone, up his neck to his ear and then caressed the side of his face. The pain was gone, Cullen remembered, before she brought her face down to his and kissed him._

_He was surprised at first, but then he could taste the lyrium on her lips and tongue. Groaning, he lost himself to pleasure. He pulled her onto his lap so that she straddled him, then he shifted so he could lie back on the stone with Red on top. He kissed her deeply, hunting for the essence of lyrium and magic in her mouth, letting his hands play over her naked backside. He pulled the robe from her shoulders and tugged it down her arms, baring both of their bodies to the other’s touch. The kiss seemed to last forever._

_When her nipples grazed his chest, his hips began to thrust against her, seemingly of their own will. The lyrium in his blood stream crooned wicked whispers across his sensitive flesh as she felt so soft and wet against him.Cullen moaned in pleasure before his better nature caught up with him. He whispered, “Red, wait. We have to be careful, we should stop. This cannot be a light deci-”_

_The lush young woman shushed him, “Cullen, you are what is finest in men. Brave, honorable, kind. Worthy. And SO beautiful.” The undulation of her hips teased his manhood with her hot, wet sex. Cullen felt the head of his cock slip between her slick folds, the motion of her hips helping him penetrate just inside her inviting channel. She pushed back a little, circling her hips to slowly seat him further inside._

_“I saw no danger for us,” she whispered, and kissed him deeply. He met her tongue with his for an achingly passionate kiss before he ran a hand up her back and into her long red hair._

_Cullen tugged on her hair to break the kiss. “Red, stop,” he said firmly. She opened her eyes and looked down at him, pupils dilated, as he caressed her back and hip with his free hand. “My darling girl, we could both be punished for this; we must stop to think, to make a pl…”_

_“I have thought about this. I’ve had eighteen summers. My Harrowing must be soon. I’ve dreamt about this,” she whispered. ”Don’t worry, Cullen. You will be safe, always.” With that she sat up and impaled herself on his manhood, throwing her head back to cry out as she did so._

_A small frisson of magic skittered over him as he felt her sex engulf his cock to the root. Red went still above him. Andraste’s flaming sword! He’d never been held so tightly inside a woman. Cullen groaned, “Damn it, Red.”_

_She hissed as he pushed her hips up, helping her slide along his shaft. He held her up as he began to thrust deeply and slowly from below. When she started to move freely he ran his hands to her firm young breasts and palmed them, tweaking her nipples between the pad of his thumb and the inside of his index finger. Red cried out for him again, her sex rippling around his hot shaft as she threw her head back and fucked him harder and faster, but with little grace._

_Cullen let his hands drop to her hips so he could guide her erratic movements. She slowly matched her rhythm to his, and as the pleasure built, she moaned, “Flaming pyres, Cullen, don’t stop.”_

_He slowed his own hips again. They drew out each stroke slowly, finally, on the down stroke when he was hilted fully in her sex, he pressed his thumb down onto her clit. Within two more thrusts she went off like Qunari gaatlok; her tight pulsing walls setting off Cullen’s own orgasm and yet another flash of magic._

_Red collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily. “Sweet Andraste’s nipples. I cannot believe I waited so long for that. I mean, I‘ve messed about a little with the apprentices and a even a few mages – Ander’s solitary came at a really bad time - but dear Andraste, what have I been doing with my life?” She moved her hips in slow circles. “Maker, you’re still hard. They weren’t lying about your abilities.”_

_Cullen’s mind, drunk with the pleasure of being in her body and the anguish of being outside of his vows, was still trying to catch up. “Wait, what?”_

_Red looked down at him, tracing his brow and ear with her fingertips.“I’ve been having dreams,” she started. “I’ve been having dreams that have been coming true. I know my Harrowing is coming very soon, after the full moon; I’ve seen it. I didn’t want to be untried when I went to the Fade, to be food for a Desire demon. I wanted someone I could trust, that would be good at it. I dreamt of you. I chose you, Cullen.”_

_Cullen grasped her shoulders and sat up in dismay, holding her in his lap. He searched her face for the truth. “Solana Amell, you can not be serious.”_

_Embarrassed, she scooted back off of him with a small hiss of pain and began stretching like a cat. In his lap he saw the truth of her words, a faint pink tinge to the juices on his manhood._

_She stared quietly at his body. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I just knew if I did you wouldn’t go through with this. That it would be one more reason you would refuse me. You’re so proper and just; such a strong will. You’d never have let yourself go, knowing I was a virgin.”_

_Cullen looked away. “Fade take it, Red. You are a desirable woman, how could I not want you, but I would have, should have said ‘no’ to protect you. This is forbidden between mages and Templars. I can’t believe I was so weak, that I let this happen.” He ran his hand through what was left of his long hair. “In a worst case, I could be expelled from the Order and you- you could be made Tranquil. Did you know that?” he barked._

_Her ashen features and uncharacteristic silence told him she didn’t. Then she started to cry._

_Cullen remembered immediately feeling like an ass. He watched himself jump off the bench and take the small woman in his arms, soothing her. “Shh, now. That kind of punishment is not usual in cases such as this, at least not at Kinloch, but you should know it could happen. I would be in more trouble than you, in any case. I am supposed to protect my charges.”_

_He kissed the top of her head. “Especially from themselves,” he whispered, rocking her gently as she cried. When she quieted he said, “I am sorry, my darling girl. My outburst was thoughtless. What I should have said is I’m honored you chose me. I should have told you this first, because it is the truth.”_

_Red giggled and hugged him. “It was perfect, just like my dream. You were perfect.”_

_“I’m glad,” he said quietly into the hair on the top of her head, but his expression did not match his words._

_She hugged him tighter, and asked, “Can we do it again? You’re ready enough.”_

_“Red!” he growled, pushing her out of his embrace._

_Her eyes sparkled at him. “Only kidding. Some other time then. I have to get back.” She found her robes and struggled into them. “You better not keep Annlise and Farris waiting any longer; she’s kinder after the three of you…meditate,” she said, laughing as she ran out of the niche and out into the night._

_The robed spirit watched the girl go, then said, “And?”_

_Cullen crossed his arms; the grey lady had never been this pushy.But given his private thoughts regarding the Inquisitor as of late, she could very well be an aspect of his own mind, trying to see this part of his life through the lenses of age and experience. He relaxed and let the memory unfolding in the dream in front of him continue._

_He hadn’t moved, he recalled, from where he had dropped to his knees the moment Red was out of sight. That was how Annlise had found him, on his knees, staring into space._

_“What did she do?” Annlise asked, as she knelt awkwardly beside him. “When I saw her come back to the tower with wet hair and glowing skin, I knew I’d better come get you.”_

_Cullen covered his face with his hands. “Don’t blame her. I failed, Annlise, I failed in my duty. This is my own fault.”_

_Annlise took him into her arms and held him as he wept. “Come, let me help you,” she said as she got him to his feet and into one of the stone tubs._

_Once he was settled, she set about gathering what she needed to fix his singed hair. “Cullen, my boy,” she said, “I’m going to take all of this off. I feel like you might need a fresh start.”_

_“I don’t care.”_

_Annlise cut the length from his hair. “What will you do? Do you wish to continue with your Red?”_

_“She is not the woman I thought she was, Annlise. She just does whatever she thinks is right, consultation and consequences be damned. She is not interested in a partnership like you and Farris have; Bevan was right. I did not see before how foolish I was being, trusting a mage.”_

_Annlise lathered the side of his head, and opened the straight razor, “Don’t move,” she warned as she tipped his head to the side. They were quiet as she worked. “I’m not sure being a mage has that much to do with her high-handed behavior. I think that’s just who she is, Cullen. You can always tell a noble, even when they’re a mage. I won’t ask what happened, though I think I can guess. If you do mean to end it, do it in a way that will leave her in no doubt that you want to be rid of her.”_

_“Are you telling me to hurt her on purpose?” Cullen asked incredulously. “She’s a person, Annlise. I do care for her, even if I don’t trust her.”_

_“Sweet man, if you don’t make the break clear to her, you will hurt her worse. Even if you still have feelings for her, be brutal. Sometimes cruelty is its own kindness.”_

_Annlise finished with the razor. He was shorn close to his head, with the curls on top only long enough to wave against his skull. “Besides, if you of all people are this shaken up by a little sex, you weren’t ready. She asked more of you than she should have, if she truly loved you,” she said just before she dunked him into the tub._

_Cullen noticed the grey lady stiffened at Annlise’s words. “I see,” she whispered, and then she began to slowly walk into the mists of the Fade. When she was out of Cullen’s reach she stopped. She turned her head to the side in her hood, back towards Cullen, and said, "You are still an exceptional man, Templar. Those words yet apply to you - brave, honorable, kind. So worthy of love. Be wary of trusting, if you must. But don’t use your strength as a barrier to shut love out.” The mage lifted both hands and the mists deepened just before a flash of magic washed over him and woke him up._

 

Cullen started awake. The dream had not been as exhausting as some. Still, his joints did ache. He would limp today. Might be a good day to tell the Inquisitor, he thought, as he rubbed his knees. Maybe it would also be worth chancing a few holes in the floor and the roof if he could make use of the bed upstairs. He was getting too old to sleep on floors.“Don’t use your strength as a barrier?” he muttered to himself as he slowly got out of his rack; “Not so strong today.”

__

 


	9. Disclosure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen discloses his relationship with lyrium.

Cullen looked at the patterns of sunlight and shadows in his office from where he stood at the window. He knew she would be by soon. He’d asked her to stop by this afternoon, when they had finished at the war table. He’d been thinking about it all day, telling her. He could hardly not think of it, with the dream haunting his thoughts and his body barking at him. She was the leader of the Inquisition now; she had a right to know.Cullen would have no secrets between them.

He looked down at the apparatus box on his desk. One of the few Inquisition Templars had brought it to him when they first moved into Skyhold. Rather than give away his secret, he had taken the set and stashed it in the bottom drawer of his desk where he’d left it until this morning.

He heard her light step on the stairs leading to his office. He moved to stand at his desk, looking down on the tools of his servitude.

He did not look up as she entered; he had to get through his confession. “Now that you are the Inquisitor, I must,” he sighed heavily, without meaning to do so. He began again. “There is something I must tell you.”

Trevelyan walked closer to his desk, as if to look at what he was staring at. “What ever it is, you can share it with me,” she said reasonably.

It was a good beginning. He should have expected as much from her. He stood up straight, placing his hands on the pommel of his sword, a comforting gesture. “Right. Thank you.”

Best to get it out quickly, he thought. He looked down at the items on his desk again. “Lyrium grants Templars our abilities, as you know. However, it is also a means of control over Templars. Restricting or cutting off a Templar’s lyrium ration can have serious consequences. Those punished in this way always suffer pain; some are driven mad with need. Others die.”Once again, he leaned down to his desk, head hanging. “Fortunately, the Inquisition has developed a dependable source of quality lyrium for our Templars. But, I no longer take lyrium in any form.”

“You no longer take it?” she sounded surprised.

He could not risk her expression, so he continued to gaze at the apparatus box. “It’s been months since I last took any. Since I joined the Inquisition in Kirkwall.” He expected her confusion, her anger at being kept from this knowledge. He waited for her to be disappointed in him.

“Cullen, if this can kill you,” she stopped. He had not anticipated her honest concern for his person. It gave him strength.

“As you see, it hasn’t yet,” he said quickly, still talking to the box. “The events in Kirkwall changed me.”He finally tore his gaze away. “Being bound to the Order – or to their control – is something I will no longer suffer.” He stood again, and met her gaze. “Whatever the unpleasant effects, I will be free,” he nodded firmly. “Still, I would not make the Inquisition vulnerable to my weakness. Cassandra will be my judge, as she and I have discussed. Should my abilities as commander become compromised in anyway, I will be relieved from duty.” He searched her face for her thoughts. 

She frowned at him, her beautiful grey eyes pinched with worry. “Is the pain very great?”

“I can endure it,” he said with his utmost conviction. He would not disappoint the woman giving him those eyes.

She blinked, but her face still held her care. “I see you have provided for your responsibilities and I admire your choice. Thank you for sharing this with me.”

He felt some small relief. “Thank you, Inquisitor, for your understanding. Your army, the Inquisition’s army, must always be strong and capable. Should I falter,” he rubbed his chin. “I will defer to Cassandra’s judgment,” he finished quietly.

He moved to his desk and closed the box. Then he bent to put it back in the bottom drawer. As he stood he winced involuntarily at the pain in his knees and elbows.

At his expression, the Inquisitor rounded his desk, leaving nothing between them. She took his hands in hers. “There is a mage here now, Ilia, who I met at Redcliffe. He is a very skilled Chasind herbalist, as well as a mage. Perhaps he can help with the pain, when it comes. Please be careful. I couldn’t imagine the Inquisition without you.” 

She dropped their hands, but continued to look up at him. “Do you have anything else for me today?”

He looked at her, the care obvious in her expression, the question in her eyes, the kiss on her lips, should he choose to take it.

“N-not at this time,” he stuttered, and looked away.

Trevelyan took a step back and crossed her arms over her body. “Very well,” she said, walking to the door. She paused in the doorway, “I’m heading out to Crestwood this afternoon, and would like to know you are being looked after, in regards to this, so please see Ilia, Cullen. If you don’t I will eventually make it an order.” Then she looked back at him and smiled saucily while walking away.


	10. Brotherly Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Inquisitor in Crestwood, the advisors are left to greet an envoy of Ostwick. Cullen is faced with a serious charge among the Templars, and must devise a plan for justice. If mages are free, society must react accordingly. 
> 
> Suggested by events only hinted at in Kirkwall during DA:II. Chapter presents the injuries of rape, but not the rape itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ABOUT HORSES: Ei'hearna is the name of the breed I created for the Trevelyan family. The horse is their sigil and breeding them their main obsession. It has meaning, but I lost the notebook I wrote it down in! As for looks, think Friesian, and you'd have it. The rest of the breeds are from in-game sources.
> 
> ABOUT LANGUAGES: I am no linguist. If I've made hilarious mistakes, tell me and I will change it. The use of other languages is intentional, for characters that do it and for meaning. I've tried to use idioms, cliches, and aphorisms that are typical of the language. Modern English is the Common tongue. 
> 
> The in-game Elvish is fragmented, or a cypher depending on who you believe. I found a great online source, Elven DAI Translator. Solas and most everyday elves will use DA Elvish. I have sprinkled in other forms of Elvish, where appropriate. When I do it, it is intentional as to meaning (to the best of my guessing) and as to character. 
> 
> N'i lû tôl - until then.

~~~ From Crestwood ~~~

Seneschal Nightingale -

This is not my usual after-action; Harding had only the one raven.

Stopped in Redcliffe to take care of some family business for Dorian. He is now back on speaking terms with his father. Dorian is a little happier. Halward may be an asset, going forward.

Now safely in Crestwood village, if it can be called safe.No sign of Hawke’s contact yet. The dead walk, and everytime we take a step forward, we have some new challenge or objective to meet. Tomorrow we take on the bandits that have taken the local keep, in order to gain access to the controls that will empty the lake, so that we may close the Rift, investigate the restless dead, and you get the idea. Dorian calls it the Diplomat’s Two Step - one step forward, two steps back.

Have Josephine send word the moment we’ve secured the invitation to Halamshiral. Make sure to tell Cullen I have asked for troops for Crestwood. The Chantry here has been destroyed; I daresay the keep will also need repairs. You will like this place, once I’ve secured it. It’s on the King’s Road, just the spot for - your people.

Inquisitor Trevelyan

~~~~~~~

“Commander!” Gervais called as he came from the gatehouse.

Cullen looked up from the raven scroll Leliana had handed him, he'd been thinking that seeing the Inquisitor's handwriting brought him more pleasure than he should admit. “Yes, Ser Gervais?”

“Ser! There is a wagon train arriving - supplies and people from Ostwick. A gift, apparently, from the Inquisitor’s brother.”

“Excellent news!” Cullen said. He stopped and made a note about writing the orders that would send the troops to Crestwood. “Any help we can get, we’ll take. Let them in.”

“I have already cleared them with the first gatehouse. They should be waiting at the barbican shortly. It’s just that, we’re going to need you at the gate.” The Templar shifted nervously.

“What’s the problem, Gervais?”

“They have several Templars with them, Ser.”

“And?” Cullen asked again. “We could use a few more Templars. I’m beginning to wonder where they all went.”

“I mean, the Templars, some of them are in custody, Ser. The lady in charge, she’s had some of them arrested.”

“The Templar in charge?” Cullen asked.

“No, Ser. The lady of Ostwick who is in charge of the supply train. She’s had the Ostwick Templars arrest four others, not of Ostwick, but apparently on their way to join us here at Skyhold. They’re shouting all kinds of venom, Ser.”

“Well,” he said. “What is it about the ladies of Ostwick that they like to make such dramatic entrances?” They both smiled as they left the worktable and went to the gate.

At the head of the train, and currently arguing with the guardsmen and some of the Inquisition Templars, a well-dressed lady sat astride a huge black Ei’hearna gelding. Her velvet riding habit was a deep green and embroidered with a coat of arms, two goats rampant before a weeping willow, which Cullen did not recognize, but was in the Ostwick style; she also wore a full wimple and veil, an unusual show of modesty. Behind her rode two standard-bearers in light armor, one carrying the horse flags of House Trevelyan, the other the banner of Ostwick, with four knights in full plate metal alongside four Templars, also in plate. A noble’s closed carriage pulled by six very well bred Free Marches Rangers and piled high with boxes and baskets came next. Just behind the carriage rode two other ladies on Dalish All-Breds. One ponied a third Dalish All-bred alongside her mount. Then came huge oxen pulling the carts filled with dry goods, materials, and other items.After that, what appeared to be six Dalish sat astride white hallas, while a pair of halla pulled an aravel filled with gear. Finally, twenty pike-bearers followed at the back, some riding in an ox cart and guarding four bound prisoners.

The lady looked down on the Knight-Lieutenant and shook her head firmly, dismissive of whatever he had said. “I am the witness to the mage’s charges; those men are murderers and rapists, and I will be damned to the Void before I allow my people to besmirch the honor of the Templars of Ostwick or the Inquisition by removing the prisoners’ chains. They have been allowed bread, water, and lyrium – that’s mercy enough.”She noticed Cullen approaching the group.

“Ah, Commander. You’re unmistakable from Vella’s letters.” She dropped her stirrups and picking up her heavy velvet train, swung down from her mount, graceful in spite of the heavy trailing garments. “I hope we will be able to come to quick agreement about these criminals, even if our Lady is not in the castle,” her voice was calm and soothing, but she gave Cullen a look that made him stand up straighter.

The lady was tall and lithe, and favored the Herald in her face, except her hair was fair and her eyes were grey blue. They also had a slight tilt that made them seem exotic. Indeed, all her features seemed slightly sharp compared to the Herald’s. “I’m afraid you have me at a loss, my lady, as you know me, but I do not have a similar pleasure.”

The lady blinked. “Forgive me, Commander, I had thought our ravens would have beaten us here,” she said. She curtsied, saying “I am Dame Elswyth Evienne of Ballie Na Leannán, first Lady-in-Waiting to Her – to Lady Trevelyan. I come as both an envoy of the court of Ostwick and as a Lady in Waiting to Lady Trevelyan. I am also the librarian at Ballie NaLeanan. She requested some of her personal collection be brought to Skyhold.”

Cullen gave her a polite, shallow bow. “Greetings, Dame Elswyth. I will send word to Ambassador Montilyet and the Quartermaster about your arrival,” he gestured to an aide, “and bid you welcome to Skyhold on behalf of the Inquisition.”

Elswyth nodded, “Thank you, Commander. I have business with the Ambassador, to be sure, but I would like to talk about the Templars I have prisoner, as you are both the Commander of the Inquisition and a Templar Knight-Commander in your own right.”

Cullen was always uncomfortable calling himself Knight-Commander, but let it go. “What is it the men are accused of, Dame Elswyth?”

“Most are accused of murder and rape, Commander, capital offenses for which I ask for their heads. They had killed the two male Dalish, and had beaten and were practicing rape upon a female Dalish mage when we came upon them on the road just past Orzammar. Moreover, they attacked our Templars and soldiers, wounding several before they were subdued. Had we been at home in Ostwick, they might have been put to the sword where they stood, but as we are in a foreign land in strange times, we believed we should seek the Inquisition’s justice.”

Cullen crossed his arms. “You have witnesses?”

“I saw it myself, Commander, though I wish I hadn’t,” Elswyth paled. “And the victim lives and is recovering from her injuries. She is in the carriage.”

Cullen’s gaze flitted to the noble box. He turned to an aide, “Move the carriage close to the stables and see to the livestock; when Quartermaster Morris arrives, send some soldiers to help carry and store the provisions as he sees fit. If he doesn’t tell you to, make an inventory of the items. Bring the prisoners, Ser Gervais. But leave them in their chains.”

The lady stared at the men as if they were worse than darkspawn droppings. Cullen was grave. Gervais and the Ostwick Templars brought them roughly and forced them to their knees. “What have you to say for yourselves?” Cullen asked.

“We weren’t doing anything that weren’t proper, Knight-Commander. We came upon the apostates on the road here from Calenhad. We demanded their surrender, but they wouldn’t. The girl was particularly mouthy. Apparently the other two objected to our response to her and they attacked us. We had to put them down. Then she seduced us, wanting to trade her body for her freedom. Weren’t our fault the Lady’s tender sensibilities didn’t understand what was happening.”

Elswyth gave a very unladylike snort at his words.

“Be that as it may, Templars. You will stand for judgment. The Dame Elswyth has asked for your heads. As the ambassador from Ostwick, she has the right to do so. As such, your trial begins at sundown.”

The captive Templars began to protest, but Cullen just gestured to Gervais to send them away. They were dragged off to the dungeons with little ceremony.

“Does the victim need healing, or did you care for her yourself, Dame Elswyth?”Cullen raised an eyebrow at the lady. His Templar senses were not as sharp as they had once been, but the lady felt like a mage even if she was being treated as mundane. Certainly her Templars bore no indication she was under their charge, rather the opposite.

The lady smiled at Cullen. “Please Commander, call me Elswyth. We have not yet healed the victim. She wanted those in power to see what the Templars had done. My men have also brought the bodies of the mages with us as proof of their viciousness. Can you interview her soon? She shouldn’t have to wait any longer – she’s in pain, Commander. It’s been three days.”

“Has she at least allowed a preventative?” Cullen asked quietly as he watched the carriage being moved toward the stables.

Elswyth’s pale eyebrows shot up. “Yes, she has allowed that, thank the Maker.”

Cullen nodded. “Will she be alright with men Elswyth? I mean, we have to interview her, the advocates will want to ask questions. We have but one female Templar.”

Elswyth placed her gloved hand on the Commander’s gauntlet. “I am touched you thought to ask. She is strong, but I believe the fewer human men the better, for now. She would only allow Terrwyn, a man of the People, to help carry her, afterwards.”

“What is her name? And those of the others?”

Elswyth sighed. “The survivor is Rhan Ghi’felas of Clan Daurnathaan. Her brother was Theron also of Clan Daurnathaan. Her bond mate was Merthyr Mahariel, of the Saebra. We of Ballie NaLeanan have connections with the Sabrae, Commander. And the Daurnathaan is also a rare and ancient clan from Ferelden. So rare I’m not sure how they met.”

Cullen ran his hand up the back of his head, mentally adding the diplomatic problems to this already tragic mess.“Gervais, send someone to fetch Lysette and one of the lay-brothers or sisters from Ferelden - the most respected one - ask Mother Giselle which and then ask her to join us as well. Also, I will need Fiona and another female healer and the surgeon. Bring them to my office in the Tower as soon as you can.”

Josephine and Alondra appeared at the top of the stairs to the Great Hall. Cullen gestured to them, “Our ambassador and her aide are coming, they will be able to see to your accommodations and anything else you require.” Cullen introduced Josephine to Dame Elswyth.

“Lady Montilyet, these are my credentials from Teyrn Ianto Trevelyan, as well as a letter declaring support for the Inquisition signed by the other five Trevelyan brothers.”

Josephine took them. “Dame Elswyth, the Inquisition is overwhelmed for the assistance Ostwick and House Trevelyan has offered. We will be able to reestablish our work closing the Rifts and vanquishing the Venatori this much more quickly. I will be sure to give the Teyrn our most humble thanks.”

“Ostwick is happy to forward your very important mission. House Trevelyan believes the fate of Thedas rests on the success of the Inquisition.” Elswyth’s polite smile cracked into a grin. “Although I'm sure the Teyrn was mostly thinking of his sister. The Nicnavín, the Inquisitor’s mother, too added some items. She insisted I bring replacements for the gear lost in the explosion and those things which were never recovered after Haven. I believe she has also included gifts for the advisors and companions, but I will wait to share those until Inquisitor Trevelyan returns.” She went to her horse, who had not moved since she dismounted, other than to graze a bit. She took up the reins. “I would like to care for Cosimo myself, and then we can meet about the Templars’ lives?”

“Templars’ lives?” Josephine asked.

“Yes. The party from Ostwick encountered some trouble on their way here. I have already started to prepare. We will have to discuss what needs to be done. Gather all the facts. It’s a rather complicated thing.” Cullen turned to Elswyth. “Go, take care of your horse. We will have food sent to your people, and I will have some brought to my office for yourself.”

“And I will have Alondra take your ladies to my office while we figure out accommodations,” Josephine said as she checked her notes.

“No need, Ambassador. We have brought tents and would prefer to use them, rather than rooms in the castle. My Elvhish brethren prefer to stay close to their halla, and Jamie – Teyrn Ianto - gave me strict instructions to not be a burden on the castle while everything gets settled.”

“Then I can offer you the lower courtyard, along the wall just to the front of the stables.” Cullen gestured to the place. “My office is just up those steps, inside that tower.”

Elswyth looked about the spot. “In the sun, too. Very good. Give me one turn of the glass, and I will meet you and yours in the office.” She gave him a graceful curtsy and walked her horse to the barn.

 

***

Cullen turned and walked slowly toward the Great Hall. He would need the help of one more person for this trial, but he was unsure how the request would be received.When he walked into the tower room he could smell wet plaster and paint, but didn’t see Solas. Cullen knew he was in the keep as the Herald had left for Crestwood with Dorian, Blackwall, and Sera a few days before.Cullen stood at the desk for a moment before he heard the faint scrape of metal on stone.

“Solas?” he called out quietly, not wanting to startle the artist at work.

“Yes?” came the cool, cultured voice. The scraping didn’t stop.

“Might I have a word with you? The Inquisition needs your help. I need your help.” Cullen didn’t like admitting that, but it was the truth.

“Just a moment.” There was some scuttling movement, and then the elf came down the ladder.When Solas turned to face Cullen he was more unkempt than usual, his bare chest bearing the marks of his work, a rag in his hands. “How can I be of service, Commander?”

Cullen rested his hands on his sword. “A party has arrived from Ostwick. Among them a victim accusing Templars of rape and murder. She will need an advocate. It would be best if the one who speaks for her is a respected member of the Inquisition. Moreover, she is skittish of human men a present.”

Solas wiped his hands on the rag for a moment. “This victim is an elf?” 

“Yes, and a mage – a Dalish mage.” Cullen shifted his weight. “You would be helping her – and me – greatly if you would be her advocate.”

Solas frowned and looked at his hands. “Very well,” he said finally.

Cullen let out a breath. “Good. We meet in my office in one hour to plan, and then you will have a chance to talk to the victim.”

“I’ll just cover my work and bathe,” Solas said. “I will be there as soon as I accomplish these tasks.”

“Thank you, Solas. See you then,” Cullen said.

Solas made a formal court bow, “ _Sathern lasa halani, Ir’iovro_.”

Cullen tipped his head and saluted the serious elf. “For the Inquisition.”

***

Not long after, Cullen, Josie, Leliana, Fiona, Gervais, and Neve, Fiona’s best Circle healer, stood around Cullen’s desk, looking at some hastily written articles for Inquisition military tribunals.

“It’s agreed then?” Josephine asked.

Leliana said, “Yes. It is a good plan. And I think it can be repeated elsewhere, at other camps.Let the Primitive Rules of the Templars be our guide for today, but we will meet again after this case and make it apply to the Inquisition, and whatever might come afterwards. Perhaps the Inquisition Rule?”

“I think, in this, we may want to be more subtle about our role in it’s creation. Let us deal with the case a hand,” Josie said, clearly thinking of something else. “And then we may reflect on these rules and decide later.”

Cullen worried his gauntlet buckle. “Well then. I thank you ladies, for your confidence in me. I had some idea of such things as you just told me, but of others I had none. This will not stand under the Inquisition.”

Over the next few minutes the others arrived, Brother Nevin, Dame Elswyth, and finally Solas, neat as usual, if a bit threadbare.

Cullen began. “We have yet to face a crime of this magnitude as the Inquisition of Skyhold. With Leliana and Josephine’s permission, since the Inquisitor isn’t in the castle, I will be the lead on this matter. It is my hope that this method will prove sound, and it will be transmitted to our bases in other parts of Thedas.

“A tribunal will be judged in two parts, by the arbitrator, and by the council, with each side in the matter having an advocate – someone to speak for them. The council will be peers of the victim and accused – members of the Inquisition – mages, Templars, mundane - and preferably from all races, or at least at a minimum the races involved in the case. The Arbitrator and the Council will hear the evidence presented, and the advocates will get to ask questions of the witnesses and make arguments about the evidence. The council will make a recommendation of guilt and punishment. The arbitrator can use that decision, or in discussion with the council, come to their own decision. If the council recommends punishment, a punishment must be given by the arbitrator. However, in cases of death, both the council and the arbitrator must agree that death will be the punishment. It can not be one or the other.”

“What are the advocates roles, Commander?” Brother Nevin asked.

“They are to speak for the accused and accuser, or at the very least advise them on the laws of the local area, or how to make a proper argument - _ethos, logos, pathos._ ” Cullen leaned on his desk. “I want no abuses like those I saw in Kirkwall. It’s why I’m not just making a summary judgment – I would leave that to the Inquisitor. When she cannot be present, I want the Inquisition to be seen as the ideal for all that is right and true, while we have the chance.”

Fiona sniffed skeptically. “All this is admirable, Commander. But why am I here? Why is Neve here?”

“You are to pick another mage to sit on the council with you. Neve is here because we needed another healer to examine the victim, along with the surgeon. Magic and mundane. There will also be two Templars, as well as three mundane officers or soldiers of the Inquisition, one of mine, one of Josie’s, and one of Leliana’s – dwarf and elf preferred. If Bull was here, or we had more Qunari in our ranks, they would be included too. I want as many points of view has can be had on the council.”

“Who will be the arbitrator for this situation?” Solas asked.

“I will be,” Cullen answered. “Leliana and Josephine agreed that this is a time of war, and that the military takes precedence. If we are to expand this to other outposts, it still has to be within the chain of command, answerable all the way up to me, and finally the Inquisitor, if appeals are made from outside the Inquisition.”

“This will give us diplomatic cover as well,” Josephine added.

Solas nodded. “How will we conduct the interviews?”

“What is the victim’s name again?" Cullen asked.

“Rhan. Rhan Ghi’felas of Clan Daurnathaan,” Elswyth said. “The dead are her brother and her bond-mate.”

“The healers will speak with her first. Examine her wounds. Then both advocates will speak with her, while I observe,” Cullen said. “The advocates will speak with the prisoners, again while I observe. Then we will take a short break for the advocates to speak with their clients and the tribunal will begin.” Cullen looked around the room. “Any further questions or objections?”

No one seemed confused, so Cullen turned to Elswyth. “This is Dame Elswyth of Ballie NaLeanan, a tributary state of Ostwick. She has brought the complaint on behalf of Rhan, and has asked for the heads of the Templars involved. She is the chief witness.Dame Elswyth, can you have one of your elvish friends bring Rhan here, so we can begin?”

Fiona stepped in. “Perhaps we should take her to the surgeon’s tent? She can be examined and questioned there? It is not so formal for this part, no?”

“You are correct, Enchanter. Forgive my error.”He turned to Gervais. “Please show Dame Elswyth to the surgeon’s tent. I want the courtyard cleared of everyone but those under the surgeon’s care. Then gather the people on this list and take them to wait in the Great Hall. Understood?”

“Ser. Yes, ser!” Gervais said. “My lady?” he gestured to Elswyth and she followed.

Cullen looked at Fiona. “Grand Enchanter Fiona, if you would explain what is going to happen to those in the hall – they will be the council for this trial. You are the most senior among them, and I think it would be best coming from you – a vote of confidence, I hope.”

“But of course, Commander,” she replied.

Cullen looked at the rapidly setting sun. “We will send for you in one hour.”

***

Cullen took a deep breath before he entered the tent. Once inside, he noted the people surrounding the tiny, blanket-wrapped figure. The healer and the surgeon hovered over the cot; both seemed tense and impatient.Both had agreed that Rhan could not walk and should not be moved again until she was healed.A severe elven warrior stood just next to him at the door to the tent, his stance decidedly anxious. Solas knelt at her side, next to Elswyth. He and Rhan were whispering, mostly in their own language.

Finally, Elswyth acknowledge Cullen with a nod. “Rhan, this is Cullen, the Commander of the Inquisition. He has called all these people together to take care of you.”

Rhan raised her head weakly, and at her gaze Cullen bowed. “Greetings, Rhan Ghi’felas of Clan Daurnathaan. You have the full welcome and support of the Inquisition, along with our sympathies for your brother and bond-mate,” he said.

Rhan’s eyes were so bruised and swollen they were slits of bloodshot blue. “Thank you, Commander.” Her voice was rough, sore. Her dry, cracked lips, much like her eyes, were painful even to his gaze. Her eyes closed briefly. “I would touch you, Commander, if you would permit bare skin?”

Certain clans of Dalish mages specialized in Spirit magic, rather than Nature magic; the Templar Order knew this. Cullen had been trained for it. She was asking to read him, to test his mettle. “Of course, Rhan. I’ll step a bit closer and hold out my hand.” He moved a little noisily, removing his gauntlet and glove. “You can touch me when you’re ready,” he said softly.

She opened her brutalized eyes. At first a look of panic came to her, but then she took a deep breath and reached out to squeezed his hand. “You feel old, Commander,” she took a painful breath, “an experienced soul.” She took a short breath again. “And the Spirits like you. You are – _parchedig_ – Revered.”

Solas inhaled sharply. “You will wear her out, Commander,” Solas said with a peevish tone.

Rhan looked at Solas. “ _Sathan, atish_ , Solas. I know my own strength. Deny me not.” She closed her eyes and let go of Cullen. “I am ready, Elswyth. Let them begin.”

Neve unwrapped the blanket, baring all of Rhan’s body. Quietly the healer and the surgeon began to make notes and identify each cut, bruise, and injury. Dislocated shoulder; bite marks; fingernail cuts and scrapes, fingerprint bruises, broken ribs. There was almost no inch of smooth tan skin untouched. Cullen stood, silent in frozen shock, when he saw Rhan’s injuries.

Once the healers began their more intimate exam, he turned to leave, until the elven warrior, the one Elswyth called Terrwyn, caught his shoulder. “If she bore it; so can we,” the warrior said. “Those marks are nothing she wishes to keep hidden.”

Cullen turned back, resting his hands on the hilt of his sword and came to attention, even as both anger and sadness filled him. He met the elf’s eye, then he said, “You misunderstand me, Warrior. These are the wounds callous little men inflict on those weaker than themselves, male and female alike.After Kirkwall, these were wounds I had wished to never see again.”

Terrwyn offered his arm in greeting, “Starting the friendship is two-thirds the work. May it be that ours continues.”

Cullen took his arm, replying, “May it be the Maker’s will.”

Solas remained stoic, asking questions of the healer and surgeon about the nature of some of the wounds, what could cause them. Brother Nevin also asked some questions of the healers. Finally, both healers were done with their exams. Plans were made for how to heal the wounds, and in what order. Neve said, “We will begin by relocating the shoulder, then heal the ribs. We will have to sedate her for the rest – some wounds must be reopened so the skin heals properly, so she may – function healthfully.”

“Can we move her back to our own tents, before the healing begins?” Elswyth asked.

The surgeon shook her head. “We should stay here. I have all my tools here, access to what I need here. But unless something goes terribly wrong, you will be able to move her afterwards.”

Solas remained on his knees. “Rhan, I beg you to allow the council to see your wounds, as we have seen them, or enough so that the council understands.”

Rhan’s gaze shifted from Solas to Elswyth. Her sharp grey-blue eyes met Rhan’s, and she gave a slight nod.

“Very well. But after I have been sedated. I don’t want to remember their reactions. And the young one, he never touched me. He dispelled my brother, took his staff, but he didn’t touch me, and he didn’t fight. They held him back when he begged them to stop. Of this he is innocent.” She closed her eyes again.

At this everyone but the two healers left the tent.

Outside, Brother Nevin wiped his brow. “Commander, I must respectfully ask that the council hear the Templars’ side first. Those injuries - I think the Templars should get their say before an open minded council.”

“I agree. It's going to be hard enough for me to sit through their explanations at this point.” Cullen worried his earlobe with a gloved hand. “Dame Elswyth, Terrwyn, you and the rest of your people should not to be with the council while they see the Templars or Rhan. Why don't you settle in at your camp sites, and I will send Gervais when it is time?”

“Very good, Commander. I need some time to check on what has been done in our encampment anyway. We will await your summons. But before I go I should introduce you to my personal guard,” Elswyth said. She gestured to the elven warrior, and the two elven hunters behind him.

“Commander Cullen, I present Terrwyn, Knight of the Oak, Balgair, Knight of the Fox, and Evander, Knight of the Talon. They are vassals to the House Nicnavín, and should be treated as any other set of bodyguards.” She fixed Cullen with a pointed gaze.

Cullen bowed, “You are all welcome, revered warrior and hunters. The Inquisition values honor, bravery, and skill where ever it is to be found, and in all the peoples of Thedas.”

They each returned the bow. Terrwyn spoke for the other two. “We look forward to working with the Inquisition, on behalf of Dame Elswyth and Eyre Anwyn, Daugther of the Horse Lord, Crowned-Glory, our guardian. In the meantime, we are watching this business with the Templars carefully.”

“This will not stand, Terrwyn. My people will have respect for all, or they will not be my people,” Cullen said to the elf. “We must show fairness, and hear both sides, openly. But rest assured, I have no reservations about spilling Templar blood.”

Terrwyn tipped his head to the Commander, “ _N'i lû tôl._ Until then.” Then he and his brethren walked back to their encampment with Elswyth.

 


	11. Logos & Pathos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arguments are made about templars and mages, and some political ramifications become clearer.

Brother Nevin looked into the faces of the Inquisition Council seated before him in the Great Hall.They were a collection of the most competent and respected members of the Inquisition. He liked them all. And now he must lie to them for the sake of duty and honor.

“May it please the Council, the accused have given their lives in service to Andraste and the Maker. They took vows to protect,” his voice quavered at the word. He took a steadying breath. “To protect the people from magic and to ensure that it never rules over us.”So far, so true, at least literally.

“In the course of their work they must make decisions that do involve life or death, both for themselves as well as those afflicted with magic. Regrettably, this sometimes means mages must be fought and put down for the safety of all. We cannot know the artifices and glamours and tricks used by blood mages or demons when they fight for their dark and vile lives.” Also true, but stretching in this case. His stomach began to turn as images of the mage’s injuries flit across his mind. He could never unsee those marks. He walked away from the council, looking only at his charges. He let his disgust show to them for a moment before he began again.

He turned to the council once more. His right hand fisted inside his sleeve, unseen by any. His left worried the chain that carried his seal and marker of office as Clerk of the Chantry for the Inquisition. “Moreover, there is the rule of law here in Ferelden regarding interactions with elves that must be upheld. No human may be punished for a crime committed on an elf; that in itself is a crime.”Bile tickled Nevin’s throat and he made a silent prayer to Andraste that his puffery be forgiven and justice served upon these men.

“When these arguments are taken together, we cannot but give them the benefit of our doubt, the benefit of holding our judgment from them as they will surely be judged when they rise from the dust of their pyres at the side of the Maker and so must acquit them of these charges and set them back about their duties.” 

Nevin took a deep breath. “We trust in the Council’s ultimate justice and mercy.” 

Cullen stood up from his desk. “Thank you to Companion Solas and Brother Nevin for making the cases so succinctly. To the Council I also give thanks for their time and the serious charge they take upon themselves – the meting out of justice in a time of war. Think upon the testimony of the defendants as well as the accusers. Recall Rhan’s injuries; but remember that the duties of Templars do often require decisions of life and death, often without much time to deliberate the facts. Please take your time in coming to your decision. We will bring you whatever you need; we can bring you any of the witnesses for further questions, should you have any. Now I release you, Council, to your deliberations.”

Cullen, his staff, the Seneschal Leliana, the Ambassador Josephine, the Ostwickian delegation, and the rest of the witnesses filed out of the room, leaving the Council to deliberate. Guards were placed at each of the doors, and preparations for a late supper for the Council were well underway.

***

Cullen stood on the newly repaired bridge to the castle keep and tower with Leliana and Josephine. The three of them pretended to inspect the new work, but really they watched the arrivals from Ostwick.

“This is an ugly business, Commander,” Josephine said as she leaned with her back to the scene, not wanting to be obvious. “Knight-Captain Courtnay is the third son of an old Ferelden Freeholder family. They may complain to their Bann and cause trouble at the next Landsmeet.”

Leliana frowned at Josephine, but kept her gaze on the elves in the courtyard. “True. I will have my people gather information about this Courtnay family. This way we will be forewarned. And I will touch base with my contacts in Ferelden, give them a heads-up in regards to trouble from that quarter.”

“I hope they don’t rush the decision,” Cullen said as he squatted to poke at some of the new stonework. “If we can tell the family the Council truly deliberated the fate of the Knight-Captain, we may have a better time of it.”

Leliana nodded. “You also, can delay passing judgement. Once they’ve given you their decision, head to the chapel. Do your usual prayerful brood Commander, and it should be enough for Josephine to spin.”

Cullen laughed. “We’ve only been at the Castle for a few weeks. Am I that predictable?” He stood and joined Leliana as she watched the elves. They were tending to their halla. They seemed at ease with the human knights and pikemen, as well as the Templars. It was pleasant to see such a group without tension. It gave him hope that the Inquisition could be another such place for the races of Thedas.

“Yes,” Leliana said, smiling at him. “But we like that about you, the Herald and I.” Cullen blushed and shot her an annoyed look.

“Commander, don’t mind the Lady Nightingale. Your dignity does you credit. At least one of you makes my job easier,” Josephine said. Then she turned to look out over the railing. “What do you make of the people from Ostwick?”

“Those two Dalish, they are mages. The others warriors and hunters. One of the waiting-ladies is a mage, and one of the human warriors as well. No wonder they brought Templars – to preempt any local interference. Elswyth seems very much in charge of them all, but she feels a little like a mage, too,” Cullen observed. He frowned, worried his senses were losing their edge after all this time away from the order.

Leliana nodded. “This is my information as well. The Lady Elswyth is as a sister to the Inquisitor’s mother.The families are close, and closely intertwined. I am guessing she is here to run interference for those times the Inquisitor does not want us to know her private business.The Lady Eyre Anwyn has much power in the mountains of Ostwick, and much pull with her brother the Teyrn.”

“Will you spy on her, Leliana?” Cullen asked.

“It could be problematic, should you do so. With this supply train Ostwick has just become our most generous supporter, if not our most powerful ally,” Josephine pointed out.

Leliana shrugged. “I have no plans to do so, at this time. At least not to go beyond that which I already do.”

Cullen frowned and crossed his arms. “Do you spy on all of us?”

Leliana chuckled. “Only when I have the need, Commander. And you need not worry about your secrets. You don’t have any of interest to the Inquisition.”

“Working at the side of the Divine has made you self-important, Nightingale,” he said.

“I do only my duty, just as you do. Someone must gather the secrets.”

Before Cullen could answer, Gervais signaled for their attention.

Cullen waved him over. “You have word, Gervais?”

“Yes, ser. The council wishes to hear more from Rhan, if she is well enough to speak to them,” Gervais reported.

Josephine picked up her noteboard. “It is good they are taking this seriously. I will have an easier time explaining this to the Ferelden Chantry, or Banns, or whoever is in charge of the free Templars in Ferelden.”

“If there are any free Templars in Ferelden. We’ve hardly seen any beyond those that chose to remain loyal to their Chantry Houses and Revered Mothers.Those we have seen outside of that scope are little more than raiders,” Cullen said.

“Don’t forget the Crown, in all of our decision about these Templars. King Alistair himself was almost a templar,” Leliana said casually.

Cullen made a sound of amusement. “All due respect to the Warden King, but he was never a Templar. His interest, if any, would be purely political. I hear the Revered Mothers in Amaranthine and Denerim are being quite difficult about - well, everything.”

Leliana bristled. “I have never heard you so condescending, Commander. Is there some reason you don’t like King Alistair? We all have a lot to thank him for, after all. Killing the Archdemon, stopping the Blight - his actions saved all of us.”

“I respect the King more than I can say, for the Archdemon, for the Blight, for - other things he has done for Thedas. When all of this is over, if we make it, I’ll be happy to engage any Warden living in a lively debate. However,do not confuse Wardens and Templars, Leliana. Their roles are different. Just as their burdens are different. But never forget, Darkspawn are not twelve year old girls possessed by rage demons.” Cullen’s face was that of a cold Templar, but his voice was soft.

Leliana didn’t respond, but did have the grace to blush. Josephine looked at Gervais, who had simply stood by. “Let us check with the healers, as to when Rhan would be able to speak with them. Come Leliana, enough squabbling. It’s just the tension. Let us make a plan, Commander, and execute it.”


	12. Ethos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Templars explore their ethics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References made to the attack and rape, but not directly or graphically.
> 
> * I hadn't intended this exploration of Cullen and Templars to go on this long. The characters demanded it (and more), while I just tried to get through it. I will try to pick up the pacing. *

Warrior, mage, rogue, cleric, tradesperson. Male, female, other;elf, dwarf, human, Vashoth. None looked unaffected at the end of Rhan’s new testimony. Even the famed Templar reserve had slipped.

Cullen thanked Rhan for her efforts with the council. Her face was no longer bruised, but her movements showed she was still healing. Terrwyn carried her from the room, as she was still too weak to walk.

“Will the council now be able to come to a decision?” Cullen asked.

Fiona stood. “No, Commander. The Council should like to speak with the young one, Templar Tor.” 

Cullen wondered what the mages were up to, with all these extra questions. He worried they would be pushing for the harshest punishments in every case. Still, these were his own rules. “Very well. I shall have him sent to you.”

Lysette interrupted. “Remember what you promised, Enchanter.”

Fiona sighed. “And Commander, we would like to see him without chains.”

“Without chains?”

“Yes. And in full armor, if you please. As if he were reporting to the Revered Mother or Knight-Commander.”

“As you ask, Grand Enchanter,” he said. “I will go myself.”

Cullen left his office, where the council had been deliberating, and signaling Gervais went down to the dungeons. The men had been separated there, per Cullen’s request.

“Greetings, Commander, Ser Gervais,” the jailor said.

Cullen nodded and gestured for her to move farther away from the cells. In a low voice Cullen asked “What have the prisoners done since they have been here?”

“Well Commander, most have ‘em have complained about the accommodations, or were silent. The big ‘un, he’s been on his knees all night. Barely touched his food or his lyrium.” The crusty jailer got a soft look about her. “Said one of them new canticles over and over, he did.”

“New Canticles?” Ser Gervais asked.

Cullen crossed his arms. “One of the Dissonant Verses. The Divine Justinia V had them added to the New Cumberland addition of the Chant. It’s been controversial – most Templars haven’t been required to read it or learn it yet.”

“Have you read them, Commander?” Ser Gervais asked.

“I have,” he said, thinking about asking the Inquisitor if they should now be included in the Chants at the chapel and in the Templars’ lessons. “They hold great wisdom, Gervais. If for no other reason than to understand why the old Chantry had them struck in the first place.”

Cullen turned to the jailor, “Bring me Tor - the big one.”

She unlocked the cell and pulled Tor out of it. Cullen thought he looked dirty and a little scared, dressed only in the rags allowed prisoners. Still, it was clear he was a warrior. The lad was huge, taller than Cullen and broader than Gervais. At a glance from Cullen, Gervais came to attention. Cullen widened his stance and looked at the young man, who at first withered more, but then straighten up to attention. “Come,” was all Cullen said, turning and walking up out of the dungeon.

Cullen assumed the council had specific intentions with this show; he hoped it included respect for Templars and their armor. He and Gervais walked the young man to the tower room used as the armory and barracks for the few Templars of the Inquisition. It was where the armor taken from Tor and the others had been stored. Cullen opened the chest where the fresh armoring clothes were kept, gestured to the places and materials to clean himself and his armor ordering, “Dress yourself, Templar.”

Gervais stood guard at the door, while Cullen simply watched. Tor went to the racks and shelves and looked over the pieces, carefully picking out which had been his. At first he kept looking at Cullen and Gervais, but soon was lost in his inspection of his armor. The young man spent some time scrubbing the rust from his plate and polishing it. Cullen was pleased to see this; the men hadn’t been allowed to care for their armor when it was taken. It had looked a little unkempt on the racks next to the Inquisition Templar armor.

Soon the man took a fresh gambeson and pants and moved behind the wooden washing screen. The prison rags dropped to the floor, and sounds of washing could be heard. Then Tor knelt behind the screen, on the stone, naked, and began to pray softly. Cullen strained to hear him over the roar of the waterfall that ran through the next room.

“’ _My Maker, know my heart: Take from me a life of sorrow. Lift me from a world of pain. Judge me worthy of Your endless pride_ ,’” he prayed. Tor remained on his knees and silent a bit longer, but then stood and dressed. He came out rubbing his wet hair with a flannel, and proceeded to put on his armor but not his helmet.“I am prepared, Commander,” he said.

When they entered Cullen’s office, the council took their seats on the benches provided for them. Fiona stood, holding a piece of parchment in her hands.

“Yesterday you told us exactly what happened, a story that was almost exactly the same as those told by your Templar brothers. You said the party had been belligerent, and that your officers believed them to be maleficarum and so attacked, even though Dalish mages are usually left alone. You could not explain Rhan’s wounds, because as you said, you were knocked out while they happened. Today you again stand before us, now dressed as the Templar you should be. Can you tell us again, what happened?”

Cullen watched the young man come to attention.

Tor began softly, “Enchanter, yesterday I did not tell the truth. My armor, my ritual, has reminded me what it means to be a warrior and a Templar. We were on the Inquisition Road, above Orzammar, intending to join up, when we found the Dalish mages. They were eating a meal, preparing for evening. They didn’t even see us. You are correct - Dalish elves are typically given a wide leeway in their use of magic. Usually, if there is a problem we take them in, they meet with the Revered Mother and she gives ‘em a what-for and then has us let them go. It’s just to scare ‘em a little.

“Anyway, Ser Deryk didn’t like the look if ‘em, so he said we should attack. I said we weren’t that far from Skyhold, and who would know better than the Herald of Andraste, or the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, whether the mages were maleficarum or not? But Ser Pyker and Ser Deryk told me to shut it, they wanted some action.

“They argued the elves didn’t feel like normal elves, and must be blood mages. I knew it was because they were Spirit Healers, spirit mages, _Ladarelan'elgar_ er whatever. My litany master taught us the difference. We had lots of those peculiar elves near us, where I was trained near Gwaren. But I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to cause trouble. And anyway I only just took my vows two days before the Breach. Knight-Captain Courtney has seniority over all of us. He’d just come from Gwaren. He knew too, he just wasn’t sayin’.”

Tor wiped at his face. “Knight-Captain made me go with him, while the others went behind. Standard tactics, just to be safe, the Knight-Captain said.

“The elves, they were standoffish at first, like usual. I asked where they were going. They said to join the Inquisition.I said we were too, so the woman - Rhan - she invited us to the fire and the food. I hadn’t had a warm meal for days, so I moved to sit. It was then that one of the men, he reached for his staff. Just to move it out of my way, but Courtney drew his sword, ordered the attack. I pulled my hammer, out of habit.But I wish I hadn’t. The mages weren’t no threat. So I set off Holy Smite, hoping to knock Deryk and Pyker off their marks a bit.

“The missed critical shots, but hit them with pinning shots. The Knight-Captain finished them off. And the lady mage, she was so weak, after the Smite. She didn’t go down, but it was like the spirit damage was especially hard for her. I think - I think it’s what made the next part worse. She couldn’t protect herself much as they pulled at her clothes. She was so weak. I yelled at them to stop, tried to get them to let go. But either Deryk or Pyker hit me over the head, knocked me out cold. I think they thought I was dead. I only came to when we were all in chains.”

Fiona looked at the boy with a little pity and a little distain. “Thank you, Templar. For the truth.” 

“I’ll take whatever punishment, Enchanter. I’m sorry I failed them, failed you,” the young man said. _“_ _Je suis profondément désolé.”_

Fiona looked surprised at Tor’s words, and there was a muttering among the council. “We will need no further witnesses, Commander, but we will need some time to discuss this new information.”

“As you ask, Grand Enchanter,” Cullen said, adding Fiona’s full title. It made the young Templar frown harder.

Cullen and Gervais walked from the room, bringing Tor with them. They headed back to the armory.When they got there, Cullen told the boy to take care of his armor, but to leave his armoring clothes on. “Gervais, when he’s done, return him to the dungeons. Afterwards, have the other’s armor brought to them in the cells. Give them what they need to clean it, but only if they ask. When they are done, see to it they all get whatever we are having for dinner, or better.”

Gervais saluted, but was silent.Cullen walked back to his office slowly, hoping the council would be ready for him. This was necessary business, but a distraction; they had a war to win.


	13. Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justice is served. Templars remember older traditions and Cullen shares a little more about Kirkwall, but thoughts of Trevelyan intrude in his work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Flogging is used as a punishment, but within reason.*
> 
> In this Thedas, most Templars are heteroflexible, along the lines of Spartans, perhaps. They have no fixed truths but Andraste and the Maker.

***

In the end, the council had been ready for him, and they had discussed their decisions and the events that were about happen.

They all stood - council, advisors, available companions, and assorted Inquisition peoples - on the battlements, just to the side of his office, the side with the grate down into the portcullis. Gervais, in full plate Templar armor stood at attention at the door of his office; he held Troth, the Sword of the Inquisition, in its scabbard across his palms. Rylen and Brycen, the Knights-General that Cullen had just appointed for Orlais and Ferelden, stood along the parapet with the prisoner, Tor, in chains between them. Rhan had chosen not to attend.

Unusually, Fiona stepped aside and Lysette, also in her Templar plate, walked forward. She turned to the peoples of Skyhold, “Inquisition! The Templar known as Tor, Son of Aras, is charged with murder, of an unprovoked attack upon mages on the road to Skyhold. Of murder, he is not guilty.But rather, we find him guilty of nonfeasance, of failure to act. When the opportunity came to expose the crimes of his peers, he did not at once speak up. It is the opinion of the council that for his silence, he receive the lash, the number to be determined by the Commander, with healing spent in the dungeon except for assigned penance.” She stepped back.

“So it is ordered: Tor, son of Aras, is to be given eight lashes for nonfeasance, with recovery time in the dungeon. He shall go to the Herald of Andraste, our Lady Inquisitor, upon her return to be given his penance. Have you anything to say for yourself?”

Tor nodded, “I accept the will of the Council and Commander Rutherford. I will work for forgiveness, Inquisition.”

The Knights-General came forward with a shoulder-width pole between them. Gervais came and Lysette stripped the young man of his breastplate, pauldrons, mail, and jacket, but left him in his lower garments and armor. He stood bare-chested before the Inquisition as they placed the pole across his shoulders and tied his wrists to the pole at arm’s length. Then Tor went to his knees, head bowed. The Knights-General both lowered their visors and held the pole in place.

Cullen took the lash from Gervais. He unwound the whip and shook his head; it was a little stiff. He hadn’t flogged a man himself since Knight-Commander Stannard died; few punishments had been need at Haven. Usually, he doubted the effectiveness of flogging, but this was one of the few times he felt it was necessary. Perhaps it would be instructive for the rest of his soldiers and Templars here; but he understood it was necessary for Tor to be able to forgive himself. Cullen let the whip fly.

Tor’s eyes watered, and he grunted during the ordeal, but was mostly collected, until the last three, which left long bleeding gashes across his back. At Cullen’s command Tor was yanked to his feet and carefully re-armored. Cullen came up to the emotional man as the others were dressing him. “Your wounds will be tended to by a mage in the prison. You _are_ of the Templar Order - you’ve taken your punishment well. Seek the forgiveness of she that you wronged, and remember. Serve your penance, and you shall be _Ser Tor_ once more.”

As he was lead down the stairs, Tor wept openly.

The crowd, who had been mostly silent during the punishment began to buzz a bit more. Rumors about the crimes of these next three men had moved throughout the barracks with its usual speed. Cullen hoped the accounts passed around had been true.

Once again, Lysette spoke for the council. Cullen wondered who had decided that - Fiona, Lysette herself, or one of the others. It was genius, in any case. No one could cry foul over the mages if the verdict was given by another Templar - with mage approval - especially if the sentences were harsh. Cullen had been sorely tempted to summarily execute the men after seeing Rhan’s wounds, despite the plan in place. Acquittal wasn’t out of the question, knowing Thedas as he did. The council was necessary for compromise as no mage would let that go unpunished.Cullen crossed his arms and shifted his weight back and forth nervously as Lysette began again.

“At times mages are killed to prevent death and destruction, it is true. Templars are called upon to make these decisions quickly. However, we Templars also learn Our Maker’s commandments to His children. We learn that _‘those who bring harm without provocation to the least of His children are hated and accursed by the Maker.’_

“In regards to the old Ferelden laws about elves and humans, since all of the crimes occurred on the Inquisition Road, they were under our protection and not that of the Ferelden Crown. In addition, King Alistair freed the mages more than ten years ago. No mages are apostates here, therefore none may be killed without either an express attack or a warrant from the local authority sanctioned by the Crown. In this case, also the Inquisition.

“The victims show only arrow wounds to the back with total decapitation by broadsword. The accused Templars bore no marks, bruises, or wounds; their armor carried no blast marks or fresh scratches. There was no provocation of any kind, in this case.

“Most importantly, at no time or place is the forcible rape of another creature ever recommended, required, or supported by the teachings of the Chantry or Templar Order.

“So it is in unanimous decision that we first ask that the accused be stripped of their armor as they no longer deserve the honors or titles of the Templar order. Secondly, after being given the chance to speak and ask forgiveness of the Maker, we ask that they pay for their crimes with their lives, in such manner as the Commander of the Inquisition Army and former Knight-Commander of the Templar Order sees fit.”

At her words, the men began to argue and struggle, the crowd to murmur. Cullen took a deep breath and went to Gervais. The ringing of the greatsword Troth being pulled from its scabbard silenced them all.

Cullen moved the sword slowly, holding the attention of the accused and the crowd. “So it shall be done: Take them into chapel and let Mother Giselle prepare them. Let them write their last letters. Then each man alone shall be brought forward and his armor removed. He shall be given a moments peace, a chance to speak. Then, in my hand, shall Troth take their heads from their bodies.”

***

“Have you got that Greta? The wording the same except for the names?” Cullen asked.

“Ay, Commander. One letter for each box, making sure - everything matches. I’ll bring them for you to sign when they’re done.”

“You have my thanks,” Cullen said to his aide as she left. He finished cleaning and oiling Troth, and placing it in its scabbard, laid it across his desk. He would sit and write the letters to the Keepers of Clan Daurnathaan and Clan Sabrae himself later. While he knew the Inquisitor would also write, he felt it important enough that he address the mess himself.

The door to his office opened. Rylen and Brycen entered, followed by Gervais, Lysette, and Mattrin. Rylen held a full bottle of a brown liquor, while Brycen held six horn cups. Gervais and Lysette carried stools. Mattrin carried a deck of cards and a basket of food. 

“I brought this with me, Starkhaven whiskey, just in case times got tough; never thought I’d need it so soon. What a business that was, Commander,” Rylen said.

Brycen set the cups on the desk and watched Rylen fill them up. “Well, it’s not Mackay’s single malt, but it counts as a highland spirit. Pour it out before the commander decides he can’t fraternize with Gervais and Lysette here,” Brycen teased the junior officers. Cullen liked to keep the hierarchy a little rigid, and distanced himself from the Templar regulars and most of the junior officers. This was to maintain the mask of command, was the official line. Cullen accepted the distance as advisable for his sanity. Among his peers, the advisors and the companions, he found distractions. Or rather Varric found him and distracted him with the complicated machinations of those that played the Game or attempted to look like they didn’t. There were days, however, when simple Templar camaraderie was welcome.

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m strict, Brycen, but I’m not boring,” he looked up at the Templars before him and took his cup. “At least not today.” He raised his drink, and the others followed suit. “To Lysette and the council,” he said, and drained his cup.

“Lysette and the council!” the others toasted and likewise drained their glasses. Rylen filled them again as they carefully cleared his desk and spread the food and cards out. Cullen pushed his big chair to the side to make room for the stools.

When they were seated, Lysette raised the glass. “Theron and Merthyr,” she said quietly.

“May Falon’Din find them and guide them Beyond,” Brycen answered. They all drank again. Mattrin delt the cards.

“Rhan Ghi’felas, to the strong goes the future,” Gervais offered, glass raised.

“May we have her strength, and she ours,” Cullen returned, exhausting the glass again.

The traditional toasts to the brave dead and bolder living went on like this until the bottle was almost dry, and all four were in a pleasantly numb but notaltogether unfit for duty. The hands of cards moved slowly; Wicked Grace was better fun in lighter moods.

“Commander,” Gervais said, “Permission to speak freely?”

“Granted,” Cullen said as he thought about his hand. He noticed the queen of hearts was a raven haired temptress with pale skin bathing in a moonlit pool.

Gervais went ahead with his thoughts. “The flogging. I’ve never seen anybody do what you did. You made it hurt, but you didn’t cut him. Until you did. And I would have sworn it was on purpose.”

Cullen sipped his drink. “It was,” he confirmed.

“But why?” Rylen asked. “Flogging is for punishment. It’s supposed to hurt - and sometimes it cuts too.”

Cullen studied his cards again before he answered. “My last Knight-Commander, the one in Kirkwall, was overly fond of the lash. I had too many Templars unfit for duty because of her punishments. I saw someone who could make it hurt, really hurt, without cutting. I got her to teach me how. Anytime Meredith handed out a lashing over ten, I did it myself, after that. Not so many badly injured templars that way. Meredith was none the wiser.”

“Now who would have a skill like that?” Lysette asked.

Brycen grinned. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Rylen shook his head. “No, it’s not.”

“Starkhaven really is that bloodless, eh?” Brycen teased. “Shabby excuse for Marchers, you are. Clearly, he was taught by a skilled courtesan, most likely a domina.” The others laughed at the preposterousness of Brycen’s suggestion.

“My dear Knight-General, I have no idea what you mean,” Cullen smiled over his glass. His officers were even more intrigued when they picked up on his dry humor.

After letting the thoughts sink in, Lysette snorted with laughter. “Come on now, day like today, we could all use a good story.”

Gervais grinned at Cullen. “Ser, if you’re worried about respect, I will say for myself it was the most awe-inspiring things I’ve ever seen done. If I could respect you more, if would. But I can’t, for my part.”

“Come now, Ser, you can’t hint at that and not deliver. You’re not known for being a profligate man. None of us are likely to question your judgement after one story,” Rylen added.

Cullen relented. “One Satinalia in Kirkwall I had patrol, ranking officer on duty, lucky me. I saw, in the street near the Blooming Rose, a woman whipping one of the - premium companions - from the Rose. I knew the companion, Serendipity; she was a favorite of some of the other Templar officers. The domina was clearly inflicting pain, but Serendipity was never hurt beyond a welt. I decided I had to learn this because of the punishments. I sought out the domina, who was amused by my request.”

“And what did she get in return?” Brycen said.

“A quiet street where no Templars patrolled and a favor to be named later,” Cullen said.

“And that’s all?” Brycen said incredulously.

Cullen shrugged. “It’s all I’m admitting to anyway. If I tell you any more Varric might put it in a book and embarrass me.”

The others chuckled.

“Speaking of embarrassing,” Rylen said, leaning over to Brycen, “You’re from Ostwick, yes?”

Brycen nodded. “Ay, one of the provinces in the Vimmarks actually, but my people swear fealty to the old Trevelyan and the new. Why do you ask, Starkhaven?”

Gervais snorted and Lysette giggled. Cullen couldn’t help but smile. They knew what was coming.

“Is it true, what they say about men from Ostwick?” Rylen asked with a naughty gleam in his eye.

“Oh, ay, it’s true. We’re all hung like our horses,” Brycen said. “Want to find out for sure?”

The two men shared eye contact that made Lysette gasp and Gervais suck in a breath. They all set down their cards.

“Templars,” Cullen broke in, the change in mood not difficult to pick uo on. “I suggest you take this down to the barracks room.”

“Ser, yes, ser!” Rylen said as he took his fellow Knight-General by the arm and pulled him out the door.

Gervais and Lysette looked at each other tentatively, then Lysette whispered in his ear. Gervais nodded. “I’m in; you’re the lady of the hour. He’s going to say no, but it can’t hurt to ask.”

Lysette turned back to Cullen. “Commander, you’re always welcome among us, you know. Meditation shouldn’t be neglected. Especially after - after shedding blood.”

Cullen gave the young couple a genuine smile. “Thank you, Lysette, for your concern. In days gone by, I’d have enjoyed the meditations greatly. But as it is,” Cullen trailed off. “As it is I am afraid I might be passed all of that. I’m used to it being just myself.”

Lysette’s eyes grew wide in disbelief, “Oh, no, Commander. You’re still every bit the man Gervais and Rylen are, I’m sure. We’ll see about Brycen.”

“Come now, Lysa,” Gervais said. “They’re going to get ahead of us, and besides, the Commander’s made a deeper commitment, I think.”

A look of horror crossed Lysette’s features. “Not the Brother’s vow? What a waste!”

“No,” Gervais said, “surely you know, Lysa. Think.”

Lysette smiled slowly. “Oh, I see it now. Good hunting, Commander,” she said with a salute, and then dragged Gervais and a quiet Mattrin off to pursue the other two men.

Cullen poured the last splash of the brandy into his glass and moved to sit in his big chair by the window. He swirled the liquor, staring into its depths. The thoughts of soft grey eyes and pouty plum lips that filled his imagination more than he would ever admit came almost unbidden. Soft, dampened lips, and a wet tongue sliding along his head and shaft. His hand wrapped in inky hair that trailed across his lap and thighs, a thumb caressing his hip bone. He let out a soft hiss of breath, and damned his leather pants. Instead of indulging himself, he stood and moved back to his desk. He adjusted his belt and drained the brandy.Then he put the cup to the side and began the letters to the Keepers.

 


	14. Correspondence Pouch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inquisition Correspondence

~~~~~ From Hill Camp, the Emerald Graves~~~~~~

Commander -

Just a note to say I am thankful for your advice about the bees, and the troops in Verchiel. Sera is madly at work on some plan for using the bees as weapons. Not to mention the intelligence regarding nobles and the little people. They too, are under the protection of the Inquisition; may I never forget. Besides, I admit I enjoy her company. She keeps me grounded, in some mad way.

That being said, could you please have those troops get some drilling in while they are there? I know how very particular you are as to planning and discipline. Troops need tending. Josephine has a note from Sera about the time and place. It should be quite entertaining, to say the least.

With Appreciation,

Inquisitor Trevelyan

P.S.

I have just received Leliana’s message regarding the sudden freeze in the Emprise du Lion. I have to admit to being a bit overwhelmed. Stroud is growing impatient about the Grey Wardens in the Hissing Wastes, but new problems seem to keep falling on my head like so much snow off of a roof. I had also hoped to already be present at the court of Orlais, but that too, seems stalled.Josephine, Leliana, and Vivienne have been finessing their contacts, I know. Perhaps this expansion into the Emprise is necessary, it may help us get the attention of or access to the Orlesian Crown or the Grand Duke Gaspard through our military.I am returning to Skyhold briefly on my way to the Emprise. I’ll be just a day or so behind this letter. Perhaps I’ll have found some resolve before then, so I'm not burdening my commander so much.

ET, Inquisitor

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	15. Logistics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition Armies are spreading across Thedas in a pattern Cullen recognizes. Cullen shares his worries with Trevelyan, but is afraid of what she will think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Itinerant Pedant for the military consult, even though he thinks I'm never going to read his work.

***

Cullen paced behind his desk. The Inquisitor, Varric, and Josephine had been meeting with the Dwarven Merchants’ Guild nearly all day. He had hoped whatever business they had together would have been concluded hours ago; he had important things to say to the Inquisitor. Cullen looked at the map showing where the Inquisitor had set advanced camps in the Fallow Mire, the Emerald Graves, Emprise du Lion, the Storm Coast. She’d taken a bloody castle - Caer Bronach - near Crestwood, and Crestwood itself. From his own information he knew something was brewing between Starkhaven and Kirkwall; support had already been sent to the Marches to help an important Dalish clan and quiet some tension among Trevelyan’s extended family.The latest intelligence had brought news from the far west of Orlais, the Hissing Wastes, which meant even more difficulties. They would need to project forces there soon in order to follow Stroud. To Cullen, the map told a familiar story. He meant to change the narrative.

He bent a knee at the window, and he prayed. “ ‘ _I have faced armies with you as my shield, and though I bare scars beyond counting, nothing can break me except Your absence’.”_ After a moment he asked, “Maker, give me the strength to be her instrument in all things, and the grace to help her see reason.”

He thought for a moment more about words, the words he would need, words that often failed him when it counted most. The Chant came to him. Again he prayed, _“O Creator, see me kneel:For I walk only where You would bid me, Stand only in the places You have blessed. Sing only the words You place in my throat.”_

“Transfigurations 12?” she whispered from the door. “Are you facing a great battle, Commander?”

After a moment, he stood. “In a way, Inquisitor, but the Chant always gives me strength.” He gestured to the map spread across his desk. “I have something I must show you, must ask of you.”

Trevelyan walked around his desk, stopping when she faced the map. She perused the map for a moment. “Tell me what you see that I don’t,” she said.

“Let me first say that what you have accomplished thus far is miraculous, and that nothing I say now is meant as a criticism, only as caution, as most faithful council.”

Trevelyan crossed her arms over her chest, but nodded. “I would expect no less. Please speak freely.”

Cullen nodded, resting his hands on the pommel of his sword. “Tell me, Inquisitor, have you ever read what military historians say about Maferath’s betrayal?”

“No, never. Does it differ much from the Chantry’s teachings?”

“Yes, a great deal. They do not use a moral lens as the Chantry does, but a practical eye to see his actions. Carlclaus of Getlburg argues that Andraste had over-extended the reach of her army, that she kept taking ground, but had no hope of holding any of the lands left behind in her wake. If any of the conquered lands had raised armies behind Andraste’s main force or if the Imperium had been able to outflank her front line at any point, the army of Andraste would have been surrounded and destroyed.

“He argues that without the solidification of rule that happened after her death but before the discovery of Maferath’s betrayal, her efforts could have been undone and her lessons, her legacy, lost to the histories of the victorious where no doubt she would have become a villain, and we would have been denied the light of the Maker’s Prophet.”

Trevelyan did not look at Cullen, but at the map. “And in this map, you see a parallel?”

He began to gesture to the map again. “Even with the Hinterlands and the Fallow Mire fully subdued and under Inquisition control, we still need to move a lot of resources across Ferelden to be able to hold and protect the ground we have under our banner. Even with a base at Caer Bronach, much of western Ferelden is in chaos and we seem to be the only ones responding. The Crown has been forced into negotiations with the Bannorn and Gwaren in the east. They are not yet at war, but the King’s grip on the throne is weak at the moment. Still, Ferelden is functioning as to trade and commerce, so we at least can procure supplies for our outposts.

“Orlais is another matter entirely. The ramparts are quieter, but the nobles still fight the civil war and many trade routes are closed or damaged, or both. Likewise, without the stabilizing influence of the Chantry and a Divine, the shifting political tides make planning the realities of feeding and clothing troops and building any kind of roads or structures that could stand up to the abuse of a marching army next to impossible. Even with Josephine’s incomparable work building allies, coordinating the movements of soldiers and materiel across the Empire is daunting.

“This is the crux, Inquisitor. If any major force came against us now, if Corypheus, or the Venatori, or Templars of either kind made any sort of sustained, serious attack on one of our installations outside of Skyhold, we would lose. In some cases we might even lose the region, not just the outpost. We wouldn’t have the wherewithal to maintain force projection nor beat back counterattacks. Lose enough and we would have trouble maintaining Skyhold itself. Losing Skyhold, well,” he left off.

“I am asking that you stop the acquisition of territory, at least temporarily, while we consolidate trade and alliances. While we build what we need to sustain our offence or survive an attack. Please. For your success. For our success.” He waited, head down, for her to speak.

“Why did you not say this in the Council chambers, with Josephine and Leliana present?”

“Josephine believes talking can solve any problem and that our allies will always come through. At least with enough negotiating. And Leliana, her people are the essence of versatility. They are their own operators, feeding, clothing, and arming themselves as needed; they are fully autonomous but for general objectives. And their numbers are small. They are formidable, to be sure, but they are not a standing army that must meet the needs of many all at once.” Cullen fiddled with his bracer buckle. “I just wanted you to hear me out fully, before my fellow advisors got to poking holes in my reasoning.”

Trevelyan took his arm, turning it over so she could adjust the buckle for him. “They do like to draw you out sometimes. Tease you. I can understand why you would be hesitant to ask for this in open Council, at least the first time.”

She finished with the buckle and looked into his face. “It might surprise you to know Josephine would back you. She and I both heard much the same thing from the Dwarven Merchants today. Though with much less evidence and much more avaricious intentions. At least your motivations are pure.

“I have no wish to make the same mistakes Our Lady did; I will take the council I am given. We project no farther until you are confident we could hold the ground currently under our banner. In the mean time, I will work within our current areas of influence to deepen the connections we have already.”

Cullen looked at Trevelyan. “Thank you, your Worship.”

Trevelyan smiled at him. “Present this tomorrow and we will make it official.”

He saluted, fist to heart. “As my lady commands.”

Trevelyan nodded. “I would like to ask a favor,” she said when he looked up again.

“Anything,” he said.

“Will you tutor me, in the military arts? I wield daggers, I shoot arrows, and I get out of the way. Even with my classical education, I am missing the basics of planning and warfare.I could use training as to how to run my companions when we are out in the field. Cassandra gets frustrated with me, sometimes, when we fight larger groups, to say nothing of Blackwall. The Red Templars nearly killed me and very nearly he entire party in the Emerald Graves last week. Blackwall was the only thing that stood between me and total disaster.” 

Cullen watched her brush her hair out of her eyes in an uncertain gesture.

“Of course, Inquisitor. I would be happy to help.”

“Is there a time that is better – when you are not as busy?” she asked.

Cullen thought for a moment. “Well, I’m usually available in the late afternoons, like now. You could join me and ask more questions about the Army of the Inquisition, or bring me a situation that you’d like to know more about.”

“Alright. When I am at the castle, I shall come to you in the late afternoons and we can talk.”She considered him for a moment. “Have you any suggestions right now?”

“Well, I could let you borrow my copy of Carlclaus,” he said, moving to his book shelf and retrieving a moderately sized book. He turned and offered it to Trevelyan. “And chess, of course. It’s really the same thing as warfare, if slower. Perhaps if you think of the pieces as people or forces when you play, it will give you some practice.”

“Thank you,” she said as she took the book from him. “I can’t promise I will be quick about reading this – I tend to fall asleep if I sit still too long these days.”

Cullen chuckled. “Sadly, I know exactly what you mean.”

 


	16. Regalyan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trevelyan is troubled by her conversation with Cullen. Her childhood hero offers some advice, and manages to comfort them both.

***

Trevelyan couldn’t sleep.

She judged it to be about midnight, but the luminous full moons lit up the starry sky and the Frostback snows as if it were midday. 

Her discussion with Cullen earlier was haunting her. She was putting all of them in danger with her ignorance of tactics. She was a fine chess player, to be sure, but chess wasn’t people. Battles moved faster than chess. Local bandits, small time pirates, horny goats, wayward horses, the cares and needs of dissimilar peoples; these were the problems she had been used to seeing over, not whether to march on a fort or where to place Blackwall or Bull during a fight with Red Templars. What did she know about mage classes and uses? The Game, the Game, always the Game, but now warfare, too.

Perhaps she might get a wee nip or a glass of wine, if Cabot was still serving. Or a snack from the kitchens, perhaps. Or climb that damn ladder and join Cullen in his bed. The thought gave Trevelyan a lascivious smile as she trekked down the steps from her tower.

As soon as she entered the Herald’s Rest, she saw she was alone in her insomnia. Cabot was just washing the last glasses. “What can I do for ya, Inquisitor?”

“I was hoping for some distraction from my inability to sleep, but I see I am out of luck. Could I get a bottle of wine? Perhaps a red, if it’s not too much trouble?” 

Cabot set the glasses in place, “No problem at all.” He went into the back room for a moment, and then came out with a deep green bottle. “This’ll be perfect. It’s a mulled wine. Ilia made a few bottles just this morning. We’re trying some new things for Satinalia. Elswyth wants us doing something each day leading up to the big day, like they do in Antiva. So we’re practicing some of the events.”

“Satinalia’s that soon? I hadn’t realized.”

“Ay. Time flies when you’re saving the world, eh Inquisitor?” Cabot laughed.

Trevelyan chuckled. “Fly it does indeed. Never enough time for everything.” Trevelyan took the bottle from the dwarf. “Thanks, Cabot. I’ll go celebrate Satinalia early.”

“Don’t over do it, Inquisitor,” Cabot chuckled as she left the tavern.

As Trevelyan walked across the silent yard, she heard quiet sobbing coming from the forge. She looked up and saw a faint light in Cassandra’s window, as well as a shadow.

Trevelyan entered the forge quietly and walked up the stairs. She saw Cassandra standing in the window, looking at the moons.

“Cass?” Trevelyan asked gently. When she saw Cassandra’s teary face she blurted, “Is something wrong? Are you hurt?”

Cassandra grimaced. “Not physically, no. Some hurts go deeper than muscle and bone. They go straight to the soul.” She began to cry again, this time silently. “But I should not trouble you, Inquisitor.”

“Cassandra Pentaghast, you are not troubling me. Please, whatever it is, talking about it, getting it out, it might lessen it some,” Trevelyan took a seat at the table behind Cassandra, to emphasize her desire to stay. “Besides, I’d very much like for us to be friends, as well as colleagues.”

Cassandra wiped at her tears, and considered the Inquisitor’s face for a moment, and then she nodded. “Very well.” Cassandra drew in a breath; “I lost someone special to me at the Conclave, someone even more personal than the Divine. This loss is more than a little of what fueled my ire with you when we first met; my grief and my guilt ruled me.” Cass leaned on the casement.

“Who was it?”

“His name was Regalyan D’Marcall. He was my first love. My only love.”She turned slightly to look at Trevelyan.

Trevelyan held up the bottle of wine and said, “I think this would go better with mulled wine, don’t you?”

Cassandra nodded gratefully and retrieved two horn cups from a small shelf nearby. Trevelyan uncorked the bottle of wine she’d gotten from Cabot and poured. She offered one to Cassandra, who took it.

Cassandra took a sip from her cup, “Mmm. Just the thing, Inquisitor.” She turned back to the window and looked at the moons.

The Inquisitor waited for a moment before she asked, “What was he like?”

Cass didn’t answer right away. “He was so many things. Mostly, he was my compliment, calm where I was excitable, sociable to soften my aloof nature, the lightness to my gravity. He was a man of peace and healing as much as I am a woman of war and violence. Our one commonality was a passion for the Truth of life. Together we lived life all the way up.”

“You must miss him very much,” Trevelyan said, more a statement than a question.

“I miss him so much sometimes I feel the emptiness in my chest as if my heart too had been crushed under the rubble of the Conclave. In almost every way, it was. And yet, it keeps on beating,” Cassandra said tiredly.

“It is good that I had the Inquisition or I might have...lost my desire to live on without him.”

Trevelyan had some idea of how Cassandra felt; lost love does exactly that - take the heart right out of a person. “Were you together long?”

Cassandra drank deeply before she answered. “Forever, and hardly anytime at all, it seems. We lived a lifetime in our almost twenty years together. Saw all of Thedas, as emissaries for the Divine. We were together as often as we could manage; learning, Seeking.”

“Did you never marry?”

Cassandra shook her head. “Our passion was enough. Though the Divine Beatrice III did join our hands and bless our union on her deathbed. I believe it made Regalyan feel better.”

Trevelyan was surprised by her candor. “You did not want to marry, Cassandra?”

“Never. Not that I didn't want to be one with Regalyan. I spent my life in pursuit of my own ambitions, in rejecting the mores and habits of our class. Making a marriage just seemed like one of those things. As for children, I suspect,” she began to cry again. She took her time letting her feelings out. Finally she squared her shoulders, “I suspect Galyan did something to himself to prevent us from having children.”

What does one say to that? Trevelyan just waited for Cassandra.

“You see, Galyan was a mage. We couldn’t have married in the Chantry even if we had wanted to, and any children born could have been taken from us – would have been if they had eventually been found to have magical talents. Regalyan was a faithful Andrastian and loyal Chantry mage, but he would not have wanted that life – the restrictions – for a child of his. He said as much in private moments, before he got the Swelling disease. He never spoke of children afterwards.”

Trevelyan shrugged. “The Swelling disease can cause men’s seed to fail. Perhaps it was just happenstance?”

“That is what I would have believed too, if I did not know the Truth. As a Seeker, I know Mages do not get the Swelling disease, nor do Templars. The lyrium in their systems does not allow it. He would have had to go months without Lyrium, only regenerating mana naturally. It would have been tedious, but not difficult to accomplish.”

Cassandra finished her wine, and walked to the table, where she sat down. The Inquisitor filled her glass again. “Did you want children, before he was sick?”

Cassandra sighed. “If you had asked me if I wanted children with Regalyan before the Conclave, I would have said no. But now, I am reminded monthly of what could have been. A little one with his beautiful eyes, my brother’s smile, perhaps. This image troubles me, now that they are both gone.”

“You have mentioned your brother before. Were you close?”

“As close as a hand to a glove. After our parent’s execution, we went to live with our uncle. He was a great many wonderful things, but not what you would call warm. Anthony and I only had each other. When he was killed I shut my heart away, unwilling to go through the pain of that kind of loss again. Until Regalyan set me free.”

Trevelyan toyed with her cup, “It sounds wonderful. To find a partner and a life of shared purpose, shared love.”

“It was wonderful. It still is wonderful. Most of the time I do not dwell on the fact that he is no longer with me. Most of the time I can feel him with me still, in spirit if nothing else. If he saw me like this he would say, ‘Beautiful, you know I love you, so no matter what troubles you, or what you regret, you have my love.’” Cassandra sniffled. “Thank you, Trevelyan, for making me remember.”

Trevelyan nodded, and tipped her wine at Cassandra. They both drank. Trevelyan thought about Cullen and the comfort she’d desperately wanted to give him after his admission about taking himself off lyrium. His face had been so vulnerable, but she’d seen the set of his shoulders. She’d had to hug herself to stop any further caress. Trevelyan sighed. “Such a love is something I have sought myself, but it seems the world has other plans for me.”

Cassandra blinked and smiled like a girl. “What foolishness, Inquisitor. I met my great love during one of the most trying adventures of my life. Galyan was necessary to my success in the events that caused me to be named the Right Hand of the Divine and the Hero of Orlais. Then he became vital to my very being. Do not be fooled into thinking dire times require being alone. It is those times we need love the most, as the Maker knows.”

Trevelyan smiled. “The Maker does know, doesn’t he?”

 


	17. Elder Arts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reason for Trevelyan summoning Elswyth to Skyhold, and a gift for the Commander.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor's full name is Eyre Anwyn Trevelyan. Elswyth and her family call her Vella.

***

Elswyth finished her letter, signed and waxed it, then stood up from the desk deep in the undercroft of Skyhold keep. The odd little crypt that had been the reason for her journey to Skyhold was full of texts Vella had believed were unknown or lost to Thedas; even partially inventoried, the library was proving to be full of rare and unheard of titles. They would be interesting additions to the Library in Ballie Na Leannán, once they had been read and studied. A few even seemed to be enchanted; those would take more consideration, or perhaps other experts.

Elswyth cleaned the cobwebs from the room again, giving her shoulders a break from her stooped archivist’s posture.She climbed the small library ladder and waved a broom at the new webs. No matter what she did, the webs reappeared after a few days; these were determined spiders.

“Might I have a moment, Dame Elswyth?” a soft, cool voiced asked, causing her to startle a little. The ladder under her jiggled, but Solas reached out and caught it, holding it steady as she came down to the floor.

“ _Hahren_!” she said with a laugh once she stepped off of the ladder. “You have caught me at work, but it is not an unwelcome interruption.”

“I would be happy to enchant the room, to keep the spiders at bay,” Solas said, his tone polite and crisp.

To Elswyth this offer seemed hardly more than a formality, and a little insincere. “Oh, no, _Hahren_ , that would be a frivolous use of magic, would it not? My body is capable, and that dear Cole said these spiders make webs valued by the surgeons, so I’m letting the little weavers have their due. They are polite beasties, and do most of their work at night. They leave me in peace to go about my work, and so shall I do the same – until their work prevents my own. And then down it comes.”

“So soft a wisp, the spider shows her work,” Solas said, looking up at the delicate snares as Elswyth moved away from him.

“And stays well away from this toiling clerk,” Elswyth replied, watching his face before putting the gauzy lengths in a small basket on the desk.

A look of genuine amusement lit up Solas’ face, and he ran a long finger over his lower lip as he smiled. “You ladies of Ostwick never cease to charm, Dame Elswyth. It has been some time since anyone answered me in verse.”

“Kind words, kindly meant,” Elswyth said, her eyebrow quirking up in wry enjoyment of his compliment. “As for myself, I wouldn’t like to be loved only in a group.”

Solas’ jaw actually dropped. “Forgive me,” he said after a moment, shifting his stance. She watched him pull his shoulders back, weight on his rear foot, one arm at his back, the other making a waving motion, like a small gracious bow. “As to my original purpose, I haven’t had sable brushes to work with in some time; they will be put to good use, my lady. The clothes, and the Keepers Robes, too; they are beautiful.”

Elswyth relaxed a little. “You have saved my cousin - several times since the Breach. I know what is due, and what may be needed in the times ahead.”

“If I may ask a question, Dame Elswyth?” This time Elswyth judged him to be genuine in his manners – perhaps even a little hesitant.

“As a hazard of my calling, I am a little old fashioned in my manners and dress, but we shall be friends, before long. It would be foolish for us to be otherwise, so please speak freely.”

Solas made a prim bow before he asked, “How is it you seem to understand a great deal about Elvhen culture, for one of your race and rank? Humans are not often interested in the People, unless it is our magic. But you know some very old customs. The lament for Rhan’s kin, the stitching on the shirts. These are elder arts I did not think were often passed on.”

Elswyth felt her cheeks flush. “Antique Elvhen cultures and their customs are my specialty, as an archivist. I make a study of each elven tribe, clan, and family that I come across. The Nicnavín family are very well connected, as are the Trevelyans. I lack for no resources. And I travel widely among the clans when I can – the wonders I have seen,” Elswyth let her face grow wistful.

“The world, its histories, they can be things of great beauty.Can they not?”

Elswyth crossed her arms and tucked her hands into her belled sleeves. “I have always thought so. What was, what is, what shall be – a melody of creation and destruction.”

“So it would seem,” he whispered, affected by her words.

“ _Hahren_ , may I ask _you_ a question?”

Solas nodded, “But first, please call me Solas. I feel _hahren_ is perhaps too formal, between friends.”

Elswyth gave him a half smile at his words. “If it please you, Solas, would you show me your fresco? I haven’t seen one like yours – or at least not one so fresh.”

Solas gestured to her, “After you.”

Elswyth made her way out of the narrow croft and up the stairs alone, but made a point to walk the length of the hall keeping pace with Solas. She gave the Orlesian gossips a sincere smile; they were harpies, but they believed in the Inquisition. Vella could use all the support she could get.

Breathtaking, she thought, as she stood in front of the panels. The Navarran archivist, Banon, was correct; these were clearly the works of a master. But still they made Elswyth frown. These were works of beauty, but also of pain. Solas’ pain; Vella’s triumphs. And defeats. She would need to think on these.

“Do you like them?” he asked, looking up at them, his pride for them barely hidden.

Elswyth observed Solas’ height, the lips, the long slim lines of him - he was a very pretty elf. She would bet, as a youth with- she looked at his brows - auburn hair - he would have been the ideal of beauty in Arlathan. She bit her lip as she shifted her attention to the frescoes. “Very much indeed, Solas. You too, hold on to much that was beautiful about the Elvhen. But that is no less than I would expect.”

“I would see no more of what is left lost; though much of what remains is mere shadows of what once was, I believe,” he said.

“Perhaps. But culture is meant to be like that - cobbled together, always looking forward and back. I am sure my wimples and dresses seem decidedly quaint, but I change my clothes with the circumstances, so that I make whatever place I am in my own. The oak is fine and strong, but who’s to say the willow will not weather the storm better?” she teased.

Sola’s eyes gave away his delight at her reference to an old elvish ode. “And yet, the oak makes a good death, does he not, by standing in his strength?”

Elswyth too, was enjoying the poetical banter. “Only if his passing leaves room for his acorns to grow, or else he has given in to the folly of recalcitrance and assured the death of his line. But you know the pride of trees. Better still to be the reed, safe from the notice of wind and weather.”

Solas turned away from her and walked to inspect the newest fresco. “Are we still speaking of poems, my lady?”

“Are we not?” she said as she sat on the small couch in the rotunda, leaning back slightly and turning her shoulders to him, knowing how the line of her hip and breast would show against the fine velvet of her dress. Casually, she ran a finger along her chin to adjust the filmy wimple. She often found the modest headdress often sparked curiosity along with respect.

Solas considered her couched as she was on the daybed. “Perhaps we are both too absorbed with our many duties, to give any one thing our full attention,” he said softly, a sweet melancholy hanging about his words like cobwebs.

“Solas,” Elswyth said. “Do you know the _irmor alas’nir_? The humans of Ostwick dance it with short swords, though the People of the Vimmarks dance with daggers.”

Solas traced a finger along his desk, never breaking eye contact with Elswyth. “I have seen it danced.”

Elswyth pitched her voice a little lower and softer as she asked, “Would you join in, if we had one here at Skyhold? It is part of the entertainments I have planned for the castle. All the peoples of Skyhold will be welcome to learn and dance. However, I would like it to be as authentic as I can make it, with respect to clan traditions.” She shifted on the couch and looked down at the floor, her every limb implying an open and biddable nature.

“My lady,” Solas said, causing her to look up. “I will try, as you have asked of me.”

“Your words make me sing in joy, _ar sulahn'nehn_. Until tomorrow then,” Elswyth rose gracefully, the velvet of her dress whispering along the edge of the couch. She hid a smirk from him as she walked to the outside door of the rotunda.

She stopped along the bridge to look out over Skyhold - Cullen and Blackwall were training new recruits in the lower yard. She saw her own knights, elven and human, working with Cullen and Blackwall. Her ladies were teaching the dances in the upper yard, just outside of the tavern. They would take over the main courtyard with the Sword Dancing tomorrow, between Mother Giselle’s services. Cullen - that lovely man - had insisted there be two large services on Sundays so that those at Skyhold, as well as those down in the valley camp, could attend. Vella had written to her how he planned for everything. Such an effort to control the uncontrollable; Elswyth had begun to look upon this Cullen Rutherford with genuine warmth.

She moved down the stairs to the lower yard. “Good day, Commander,” she said as he was finishing up with the recruits.

“Elswyth,” he greeted her with a small bow as he set down his shield and practice sword. “I have to say your entertainments lift the spirits of this castle.”

“I do only what her Worship brought me here to do, Commander,” she answered. “I imagine our roles are similar in that.”

“We both serve at the pleasure of Her Worship. I am happy to do so, as you are, I imagine.”

“Indeed I am, and I have something I would like to give you. It should make your work for the Inquisition easier. Would you join me?” she said, gesturing to the stables. Cullen nodded.

Elswyth waved to one of her ladies as they walked into the aisle of stalls.“Is it true that Grim lets you lead him and pet him?”

Cullen reached into his pocket. “Yes, but only because I bring him these,” he said, offering the great grey stud three small candies and an apple. Grim took the candies, chewed for a moment, then took the apple from Cullen’s hand in two bites. “We’ve gotten into a bit of a routine, as you see,” Cullen said as Grim rubbed his forehead against Cullen’s shoulder, carefully getting a good brushing on the smooth, rounded edges of Cullen’s pauldrons. When Grim was done he made sucking noises, as if swishing the taste of the apples and candies in his mouth.

Cullen brushed the horse hair off of his armor. “I gave him one of the peppermint candies when I was guiding him in the mountains, while the Inquisitor was lost. After that he’d search my clothing with his nose. This was easier than cleaning horse slobber off of my fabric and fur. He seems to like it, when he’s here without the Inquisitor. It breaks up my routine, and it’s certainly bought me some credit with Dennet and his grooms.”

Elswyth scratched under Grim’s chin. He stuck his nose in the air so she better reach his scratchy places. “I have something for you, something I’d like you to look after, and if it suits you, to make it yours.”

As she spoke, her lady appeared with one of the black and white Dalish All-breds. “His name is Eclipse, the best built young stud I’ve had in some time. He was gentled to saddle just before we left for Skyhold, and has proved himself a capable willing learner. I should like you to have him, Commander.”

“This is a generous gift, Elswyth. Almost too generous,” Cullen held his hand up for the young horse to smell, then patted him gently on his neck. “But I know little about the training of horses, in truth. I can ride, but know none of the things I’ve seen the Inquisitor do on Grim. I should hate to disappoint Eclipse, or you.”

Elswyth waved a hand at him. “I can teach you the basics - you ride well enough for the pole work from the Cavaletti School. Should you both progress at pace, I can speak with Trevelyan about teaching you more. You would be doing us a favor, Commander, both me personally and the Trevelyan family as a whole. Ei’hearna are few in number, as a breed. The mares are very selective about choosing from the available studs, but even so the Trevelyans occasionally need to outcross the breed to keep the bloodlines safe. Eclipse here is the first of my All-Breds to even be considered in what seems like an Age.”

“Now you’re really making me nervous,” he said. “I could ruin the poor boy’s chances of breeding mares of those bloodlines.”

“But that’s just it, Commander. A horsemaster or mistress of Ostwick could make any hoofed beast into a competent war horse. Learning together with a rider of equal potential and inexperience is the best way for us to determine his native abilities. To be considered, Eclipse will need to prove his own intelligence, filling in any gaps in training, if you will. Believe me when I say it is a compliment to you both. Please don’t tell me you couldn’t possibly.” Elswyth gave Cullen her best revered mother look.

Cullen patted Eclipse again. “I am many things, but I hope foolish and boring aren’t two of them. I shall do my best for you, Elswyth.” 

“Somehow I think your best is just what is needed, Commander,” Elwyth said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have one chapter that's giving me trouble, and then four waiting patiently ready to go when that one is done.


	18. Chess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Trevelyan finally get a little time together, while Elswyth flirts with Solas.

***

The next morning, Elswyth was surprised to find Solas and Vella talking out on the mountain balcony of the Inquisitor’s private quarters. Whatever they were speaking of seemed serious; Elswyth could tell Vella was a little confused by their discussion. As for Solas, he had his court manners on, but she was amused to see his inclination for her cousin in the slight pout of his lower lip. This attraction must confuse him. And her. But they looked to be handling it well enough.

Elswyth watched a moment longer, and when she saw Vella’s nervous shrug, she came out onto the balcony. “My lady, forgive me, the service for the advisors and companions is about to begin in the chapel. I know you wanted your schedule to run on time today, because of the festivities.”

Vella beamed at Elswyth. “Yes, cuz, I do need to stay on time today, don’t I? Solas, do forgive my rude departure,” she said as she turned and left for the service.

Elswyth gave Solas a prim smile. “My apologies for interrupting your tete-a-tete. But I’m afraid she really does have to keep a timely schedule today,” Elswyth said. “She means to go down to the valley camp today, and she wants to be back in time for the _alas’nir_.”

He made eye contact with her, “No need for concern, Elswyth. I was just making amends with the Inquisitor, for underestimating her, and humans in general. It is surprising to understand that I may have been wrong in a few of my notions. She is a rare spirit, the Inquisitor.”

“Yes, the Lady Eyre Anwyn has been an example of what is best in humanity since she was small - her brothers used to tease her about it - like the girl in the dwarven drinking song. _‘Never was a girl so brave and true as our perfect paragon Mary Sue._ ’ Her eldest brother even calls her Mary Sue, which she hates.”

“You have known her a long time then?”

“Ay, since she was born. I am family, if only very distant. I know all the family’s scandalous little secrets,” Elswyth let her eyes twinkle at Solas, remembering the many adventures Vella, her brothers, and their several cousins got up to in their childhoods.

Solas smiled a bit, the corners of his eyes scarce crinkled with humor. “So her spirit, outside of the irritations of older siblings, it has always been so temperate and wise? She has a nuance to her actions that I have not seen in some time. I have been curious to know if it’s been the same since the Anchor came to her.”

“Temperate? Yes, she has always had a steady character, wise beyond her years, keen of action. She is gentle and funny too, despite all the violence she doles out in the world. The House Trevelyan words are _‘modest in temper, bold in deed’_ after all. She is a rogue of the subtlest kind, as she amuses, seduces, and then slips a knife to the back. You find her fascinating, do you not? She brings you a perverse delight, even as you strain against your keeping of the Old Way?”

His cool blue eyes widened in shock, but it was a small thing; to Elswyth it was plain as day. “She is - you are both - not what I expected. Perhaps I have misjudged your people. This is surprising to me, as I thought I was much better at discerning this world as it is.”

“It is easy to dismiss the younger race, for one of the Elvhen. Humans must learn so quickly, act at once rather than at last, that I am sure it seems like madness to the older races,” Elswyth ran a finger into the edge of her wimple, tugging the lobe of her ear as she adjusted a simple earring that had been hidden underneath.

Solas’s gaze fixed on her earlobe before he straightened and cleared his throat. Softly he said, “You both test my boundaries, Elswyth. She with her ability to wield the Anchor at all, and you with your astonishing perception.”

Elswyth put her arms behind her. “Am older than my cousin, that is all. I have seen more of this world. For example,” she said, stepping closer to him and looking him in the eye, “should you show me the kiss at the corner of your mouth, I would know just what to do with it, Solas.”

At his movement to kiss her, she looked down. “But then so have half the elves at the castle it seems, and I am worth more than snog on a balcony,” she said as she walked from the railing.

At the door she said, “I look forward to seeing you dance, _Hahren_.” 

She knew she left Solas impressed and disappointed at once.

 

***

 

Cullen had noticed Leliana scooting into the service late, which was unlike her. Leliana was as devout as any, and more committed than most. More committed than all of them, if he was honest. He wondered what fresh void was coming his way; her lateness could only mean news.

She caught him on the stairs up to his office after the service, “Commander, I have just seen the full letters from the Emerald Graves. You must be so disappointed in me - first Haven and now this - we had odd reports about the Templars and red lyrium, we saw them at Haven. They should have been our first priority - we could have investigated Sahrnia long ago. However, the Inquisitor asked us to backed off after she established our first camp so we could gather our strength. She had made contact with Michel de Chevin, a former Chevalier, and felt he might be a valuable ally, even though he couldn’t join us at the time. We have been courting him as an agent since then, aiding his campaign in the Emprise while we regroup. He’s been very patient, and he’s already given us a connection that may help us finally get to the Winter Palace, but these letters hint at something dark and sinister going on there and at Therinfal Redoubt. I fear for the Templars.”

Cullen nodded, crossing his arms as he stopped to think. “I have read them too, Leliana. It does not look good for the Order,” he said. “But you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. Lord Seeker Lucius saw to it that the Order abandoned the Chantry and all reason when it left for Therinfal Redoubt instead of staying to protect Thedas. I stopped agreeing with the Order and its methods long before that. I serve the Maker here, with the Herald of Andraste and her Inquisition, and I am happier for it.” He turned to go, but stopped himself. “The Order was once my whole life. It does - pain me - to see it brought low. Thank you, Leliana, for thinking of me as a friend, and the Templars as people, and not just as tools in your arsenal. You’ve done better than the Chantry.”

Leliana exhaled slowly, “I am relieved to hear you say so. Cassandra and I, and Josephine, we have been worried about you since Haven. You always look so tired. Promise you’ll take more breaks, Commander? Like today? The whole castle is taking part in the amusements between services, even the Inquisitor. I’m sure you handle a dagger well enough to join in the dancing?”

Cullen laughed out right. “I’m fine with the daggers, Nightingale, but I do not dance. And I certainly won’t compete with the grace of the elves. But you ladies don’t have to worry about me today,Dorian has already claimed me for some chess in the cloister, when I’m done with reports. I shall be taking my day of rest seriously, for once.”

“Excellent, Commander. We shall look forward to your handsome, well-rested self at the War Table tomorrow, then, as we’ve had big news from Orlais and will need to make plans accordingly,” she said with a wink, and turned back down the stairs before Cullen could even think about blushing at her compliment.

“Orlesians,” was all Cullen muttered as he turned back to climb the stairs to his office.

 

***

 

Soon enough his reports were done and Dorian came to collect him for their chess game.

“Come along, Commander,” he said with an exaggerated twitch of his mustache. “It’s time I beat the pants off of you.”

Cullen finished his quill stroke and place his papers in order. “You wish, Mage. You’ve been trying to get my pants off since you got back from Redcliffe,” Cullen said calmly. “You’ll be disappointed today, just like all the others.”

“Come now. A beautiful male specimen like yourself, you must be curious as to how the other half enjoys our - other halves,” Dorian said quietly as they walked across the bridge to the keep. “As for myself, I am an expert at such things. I’d be happy to take my winnings in trade, if you’re curious.”

Cullen smiled until the corners of his eyes crinkled. “No, Dorian. As much as I am flattered by your attention, I am not curious.”

Dorian gave Cullen his most smoldering look. “Commander, I’m disappointed. A man with your rumored intellect and voracious reading habits to not be the least bit curious? It’s shocking. Simply shocking. Not be curi-” Dorian stopped dead and really looked at Cullen.

Cullen stopped, crossed his arms and met Dorian’s gaze. Then he raised his eyebrow at the handsome mage.

Dorian giggled. “A man full of surprises. How delightful.”

Cullen started walking into the keep, “Come on, Dorian. I haven’t got all day. And though I make no promises, you should really be asking yourself, what happens if _I_ win?”

Dorian stood dumbstruck for a moment, staring after Cullen, before he too walked into the tower keep.

 

***

 

Dorian played well, Cullen thought, but not well enough. He brushed his hair back unnecessarily, also thinking that at least Dorian didn’t cheat like Leliana. Cullen hadn’t yet disabused the spymaster of her not so secret ways, preferring to let her think he was none the wiser. This approach had its advantages: never let the enemy know your full capabilities, always keep something in reserve. His fellow advisors were not enemies, exactly, but after the excesses of Knight-Commander Meredith, he vowed to keep a weather eye on them, just as Cassandra was doing for him. He watched Dorian move his pieces. The strategy was sound, it was just too bad for Dorian that Cullen had seen it coming and planned for it moves ago.

“As you see, Commander, I am well placed. We are in the endgame now,” Dorian said as he leaned back in his chair, a seductive pout to his lips, a suggestive language to his body.

Cullen leaned in to look at the board, making it seem like he needed to study it before he made his next move. “Gloat all you like, I have this one.”

“Are you sassing me, Commander?” Dorian asked from his louche pose in the chair. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Cullen sighed, “Pretty is as pretty does, Dorian. I am not going to lose, but why do I even bother trying to-” he noticed a figure out of the corner of his eye, and came to attention in surprise like a recruit caught out after curfew. “Inquisitor!” he acknowledged with a salute.

“Leaving are you? Does this mean I win?” Dorian asked, the bemused expression on his facing giving away that he had seen her approach and not said anything, the cheeky bugger. She’d probably heard their banter, too. Cullen blushed.

The Inquisitor fixed him with a happy smile and sparkling eyes. He sat back down hard, surprisingly unable to muster his self-control in the warmth of a smile like that. His insides turned to mush; he felt like a teenager, all hot and tongue-tied. He smiled bashfully.

She looked over to Dorian’s sly grin. “You’re taking this rather seriously,” she commented.

Dorian seemed to relish his embarrassment. “He is, isn’t he?” he said to the Inquisitor. Cullen could see now that Dorian was teasing him. Did everyone know about his feelings for the Inquisitor?

Dorian gave him a wolfish grin for effect. “You’ll have to come to terms with my inevitable victory.You’ll feel so much better.”

Cullen snapped out of his dopey trance and leaned over the board, moving pieces. “Oh really?” he asked, breaking his silence. Then he put his hands behind his head and leaned back, the very image of cool victor. “Because I just won, and I feel fine.”

Dorian looked at the board in shock. Then he shot the Inquisitor an amused grin before he said to Cullen, “Don’t get smug, or there will be no living with you.” Dorian stood and walked over to the Inquisitor.

“Darling,” he said with a kiss to her cheek, “I must get back to my genealogy, as all the fun that’s to be had has been had. Or at least I won’t be having any. Unless, of course, what they say about elves is true. How goes the dancing?”

“Solas has bested Terrwyn - a sight I thought I’d never see. Terrwyn has been the lord of the _alas’nir_ since - well these ten years or more. Our _hahren_ is hiding impressive power in his wanderer’s cloak, to be sure. Bull’s having a go at the dance right now, but only in jest. Humor seems to be soothing some surprised feelings. You should go - Bull would like to see you, I know.”

Dorian frowned at her for a moment, but then smiled as if he caught her meaning. “Then I am for the dance!” he said with another kiss for Trevelyan and a wave to Cullen.

Cullen felt an absurd pang of jealousy when Dorian got to kiss the Inquisitor - twice. He knew they were close, but just how close? Men were often such - especially nobles with their property and inheritances. Maybe there was some understanding he should be aware of? Nevertheless, he went ahead with a hopeful thought. “I should return to my duties as well- unless you’d like a game?” he asked, praying she would say yes.

Her grey eyes lit up at his question. “Prepare the board, Commander,” she answered.

As he did so he said, “As a child I used to play this with my sister, Mia. She would get this stuck up grin whenever she won, which was all the time. My brother Branson and I practiced for weeks. The look on her face the day I finally won. It was like she’d sucked on a sour candy after gargling vinegar. Best day of my young life.”He stopped for a moment and looked down at the board, a sad look passing his features.

“Between serving the Templars and the Inquisition, I haven’t seen them in years. Not since the Satinalia before I went to the Tower, a year or so before the Blight. I wonder if she still plays,” he said, his tone wistful.

“You have other siblings?” she asked after she made her opening move.

Cullen studied her choices. “Two sisters and a brother, he replied. Mia is older than me, Branson is younger, and Rosalie is youngest,” he answered after he moved his pieces.

They continued to play, each deliberating their opponent and their moves.

“I know you’re the youngest,” Cullen said, “but of how many?”

“My father and mother have seven children, of which I am the youngest and only girl,” she replied.

Cullen whistled. “Seven? We had four and there was never any peace to be had. How did you manage it?”

“Quite well, actually. Ianto, who is now Teyrn Trevelyan of Ostwick, he’s fourteen years older than I am. He and my other older brothers were often from home - at school, traveling. Fostering with other noble families to see how they work, to perhaps find an eligible match. But when we were all home - blissful chaos,” she said. “My brothers are spread far and wide now;Ianto and Brynmor are in Ostwick - they are in the family business, Neirin and Atton, the twins, they are in Wycomb up to no good, I am sure. Gerallt is in Markham, he teaches at the university. And Dryw, he is at my home in the mountains, watching over my goats. We write often. And before this year, we’ve been together almost every Satinalia. What about yours?”

“They moved to South Reach after the Blight, all of them. My parents died during the journey, however. My siblings have stuck together though, despite varying professions. I admit, I do not write to them as often as I should.”

“Do you regret not seeing them?” she asked, moving her pieces.

Cullen looked at her, thought about her large and close family. “In a way, but it was better for them that I kept my distance. Kinloch Tower was a mess during the Blight, and Kirkwall was almost worse, in the end. I was, not the person I once was, not the brother they would have remembered. Letters were better,” he said, studying her decisions.

“Hmm. I can understand a little of what you mean. I ran away, for a bit, in my early twenties. It was like the weight of all that love would have sunk me, and I was already low, so I went away. But I realized, they knew be best, loved me first. To get back to who I truly was, I needed them to help me remember.Do you - do you have plans to see them now that you’re back in Ferelden?”

“Perhaps, one day,” Cullen began to run through the logistics of what he would need to stay in contact with his command staff. Eventually he said, “The Inquisition’s outposts move ever closer to South Reach. When we’re close enough for mounted couriers, I may be able to make a trip there.”

She gave him that smoky look, the look that seemed to tell him he was beautiful and strong and could face any challenge, and she said, “You should. I keep threatening you with orders for your own good. Eventually I’ll have to make them stick. Battle scars or not, what family wouldn’t be proud of you, Commander?”

Cullen held her gaze, embarrassment turning to something more pleasant. “My - my turn,” he murmured finally.

The Inquisitor released a long breath and shifted nervously before she said, “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”

They played on for a bit before she said, “Let me see, we’re both from large families, we both enjoy chess, and we both love to read. Anything else I should know about you, as my Commander? Other than an astounding level of competence, that is?”

He chuckled. “Most days I feel like I’m stringing the Inquisition together with tree sap and shoe leather, so I thank you for not noticing my inconsistencies, Inquisitor. But let me think - this may not be a surprise though. I was an alter boy at our Chantry in Honnleath. Mostly I did it to be near the Templars, but I did like the ceremony of it. There is something comforting in routine.”

“It’s not surprising, but it is a lovely thought - young Cullen lighting braziers and changing candles. Or did the girls get to do that, while you scrubbed the stones and cleaned the soot out of the braziers?”

“A little of both, actually,” he said with a laugh. “How did you know?”

“Because the Chantry was the only place where I got more responsibility than my brothers, at least when we were young. Dryw was always scrubbing while I got to start fires with magic powders. Trevelyans all serve the Chantry, in one way or another.”

“Would you have taken vows?” he asked, imagining her in sisters robes, but only for a second.

She laughed wholeheartedly. “Never. Trevelyans are faithful to the Chantry, but my mother’s people are a bit eccentric in their beliefs. I would have had - difficulty - keeping some of my vows. We of the Leannan Valley are faithful to Andraste, but we hold to some traditions Ages older than the Chantry. They would be in conflict.”

Cullen could almost feel her gaze along his skin, like the snap and tingle of wool in the winter. It excited him, even as it disconcerted him - this was the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor. But still, part of him knew these were just titles. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for the woman with the soft grey eyes that sat across from him in the sunshine, not as a soldier, and certainly not as a man.

They each looked down at the board and took turns again, moving the game along without talking for a bit.

As the endgame began Cullen said, “This may be the longest we’ve gone without discussing the Inquisition or related matters. To be honest, I appreciate the distraction.”

She tucked her beautiful black hair back behind her ears in a gesture Cullen had long thought adorable. Then she said, “I haven’t been this relaxed in a season or more. We should spend more time together.”She looked up at him, biting her lip.

Those eyes, those lips; he would need a cold sponge bath after this game. Without thinking, he smiled knowingly and said, “I would like that.”

She blushed to her ears and stammered, “Me - me too.”

He was unable to keep the look of satisfaction off of his face as he murmured, “You said that.” The look that passed between them would keep him in cold water for weeks, he knew. He looked down at the board.“We should finish our game, right? My turn?”

“Mmm,” she replied and they played on in companionable silence.

Cullen was surprised to see her winning move and his lack of options; he should know by now to never underestimate her. No cheating, in a fair game, she beat him. Sexy as that and smart as a whip, he thought as he knocked over his king. “I believe this one is yours; well played. We’ll have to try again sometime.”

She nodded, but before she could speak a runner came for him, and he excused himself to return to his duties.

 


	19. A Glimpse of Heaven

***

Eyre stood for a moment inside the vestibule to the Grand Hall, toying with a loose bit of her hair as she watched Cullen drill new recruits in the lower yard. She was overdue to meet him to discuss the updates from Emprise du Lion, as well as discoveries in Sahrnia about the red lyrium by several days. Instead she stood, neglectful of her duties, holding up progress on most everything in Thedas because she was hiding from the Commander.

They’d been set to head out towards Emprise du Lion the next day. Unsurprisingly, she’d been unable to sleep, her fevered body refusing to relax in her solitary quarters. Recognizing a little exercise would help, she had dressed for the cold and gone to do a round of the battlements, checking in with the guards. When she’d reached Cullen’s tower, she had entered quietly but without thinking, as the hour was so late it was almost early. None other than the guard had been on the battlements.

It was the splash that had made her stop, just as the commander put a bucket of water over his head. She’d stood in the open door, unable to move, gaze fixed on the Commander’s naked backside and the bubbles sliding smoothly over the muscles of his shoulders and down over the tight brawn of his butt and thighs. It had been a long time since she’d seen any male quite so resplendent, so obviously powerful, in such a simple moment.

He was breathtaking. Her small gasp made him start and look back over his shoulder, blinking back soap bubbles. The last thing she caught before fleeing back the way she had come was the splayed muscles of his chest meeting those of his back. Heaven.

She hadn’t been sure if he’d seen her, but even so spent the rest of the night pacing her quarters, eventually sending word to her companions that they were to leave for Emprise du Lion before first light.

In short, she’d bolted from her own castle out of embarrassment. Though they had been gone almost a month, her mind hadn’t calmed. The evidence they found related directly to Corypheus, the Templars, and the man named Samson. At any mention of Templars or lyrium, her mind kept wandering back to Cullen, how if circumstances had been different, he might have become a red Templar. Her breath left her. At other times images of Cullen, bare and dripping wet at his washbasin, came to her. More than once she’d brought her own pleasure to that image. But it was more than his beauty that distracted her. As she watched him with the recruits, she could see his concern for them. He wanted their technique to be perfect. Not only because it would build a better army, but also because it might keep them alive. Her thoughts about the commander were becoming difficult to manage – it wasn’t helping her strategic planning. Nor her tactics training, nor her sleep. 

“You know, Inquisitor, for all his bark, he certainly won’t bite.Unless of course, you want him too.” Leliana stepped out of the shadows of the vestibule and smirked in the direction of Trevelyan’s gaze.

“Are you so sure, Leliana? That man is the leader of an army spread across Thedas. He came up with a plan to delay a terrifying Elder Magister and an apparent Archdemon while under attack, snatching our escape from between its horrendous jaws. Underestimating him sounds like a very bad idea.”

“But that is exactly the Commander, yes? You gave him an order and he followed it – come dragons or avalanches or leaving you behind. I’m quite sure he’s never going to allow you to be so outmatched again – and he’ll never question your decisions again. He is a contradiction that proves itself. Do you think he would deny you anything you want – especially if he wants it himself?”

“Anything he wants?” Trevelyan turned toward Leliana. “Do you know something I don’t?”

Leliana simply gave Trevelyan an Orlesian shrug. “Maybe I do. And maybe I don’t.” Her stance changed only a bit, but Trevelyan could feel the challenge. “What I do know is that we are delaying decisions about Emprise du Lion, the Winter Palace, the Hissing Wastes, the ruins in the Hidden Oasis, the Fallow Mire, Crestwood, and a dozen other places because you haven’t turned up at the Council chambers even though you’ve been back two days. We appreciate your need to meet with Elswyth and see your personal correspondence, but he’s noticed. So do something about this before we have to trick you both into a locked room.” Then the bard smiled and turned back into the Great Hall.

Trevelyan twisted her hair again. There was only one way to know if he’d seen her that night. Only one way to know if he felt the same way about her as she did about him. She watched him dismiss the recruits, most of whom fell down upon the grass exhausted as he passed by, climbing the stairs to the upper yard, followed by those to the battlements and his office. Trevelyan stepped farther back into the shadows when she saw him look across the courtyard.

Trevelyan smiled at her own foolishness. Whatever happened, the commander was a good man – she knew if he didn’t return her feelings he’d say so. “No, nothing to worry about,” she muttered under her breath as she walked through the castle, Sola’s room, and across the bridge to Cullen’s tower.

 


	20. First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first of many...

***

Trevelyan stopped just outside the door to Cullen’s office. She ran a hand over her flyaway hair, tucking the loose strands around her face behind her ears, momentarily wondering if she should have gone for a full toilette first.

The thought that she should just get her damned ass in the room and get it over with settled her. With a deep breath, she turned the handle and walked into the room.

Cullen was, as usual, leaned at his desk, his command staff taking notes and runners entering and exiting the side doors at intervals. She wandered in, trying to maintain her usual unruffled demeanor. She listened for a few moments while he finished up giving an order about the first new route to Skyhold. He hadn’t noticed her entrance, and as she was nervous about calling attention to the real reason for her visit, she simply waited near the bookshelves.

She noticed he’d added several titles over the past few weeks – _The Legend of Calenhad, Volume I and Volume II,_ and _Cautionary Tales of the Adventurous._ Several others on King Maric and his mother the Rebel Queen were stacked on a low table near the shelves. Then she noticed a slim volume tucked between the weightier historical tomes and pulled it from its place. _Strofe D’amore,_ it said in delicate gilt letters on beautifully soft Halla leather. Trevelyan recognized the title and blushed; it was a volume of erotic poetry – Antivan erotic poetry. In the original Antivan.

Cullen coughed. “Can I help you Inquisitor?”

Trevelyan started, looking over to the Commander and dropping the book. “Oh, um, yes,” she said as she bent to pick up the book. The room had cleared a bit, leaving just the Commander, his scribe Greta, and one other aide-de-camp. “I was wondering if you had some time?”

The Commander gestured to the nearly empty room, “No time like the present.”

Trevelyan blushed. She set the slim white book down on top of the brown leather histories. “I hoped we could talk – alone,” she said, turning the title towards him.

Cullen noticed the volume she’d set down, his brows drawing together and a faint blush coming to his cheeks. “Alone?” he questioned distractedly. “I mean, of course.” He dismissed his staff and gestured to the door that lead to the mountain overlook. Trevelyan nodded and walked toward the door as Cullen followed.

Once they were both out in the mountain sunshine, Cullen commented, “It’s a nice day.”

Lost in her own thoughts, Trevelyan didn’t fully hear what Cullen said. “What?”

“Nothing.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You had something you wanted to discuss?” Cullen bit his lip, his gaze looking past the Inquisitor and to the view below.

Trevelyan too avoided eye contact. “I know I have been – distracted – these past few days.I have so much on my mind; but I find myself…” Trevelyan paused, daring a glance at the commander while brushing her hair off of her face.

Cullen smiled at the gesture, the slight crow’s feet at his eyes flavoring Trevelyan’s pleasurable view. She took a deep breath. “I find myself caring about you - thinking about you – and wondering if, maybe, you could, if you have been thinking of me, too?”

Cullen looked up in wonderment, “I could – I do – think of you.” Cullen stepped closer, reaching for her, yet stopping himself short. “But I’m your Commander at Arms, and we’re at war. And you - you’re the Inquisitor, the flaming Herald of Andraste – what right have I to speak of caring at all?”

“I am also a woman, Cullen,” she said, touching his cheek. “A woman who cares for you very much.”

He closed his eyes at her touch, “I didn’t think it was possible.” He waited a moment, stilled by her touch and her words.

Trevelyan’s heartbeat picked up as she watched him. “I’m here, Cullen.” She put her hands on his shoulders, “I am here for _you_.”

He finally reached out for her, smiling, “so you are.” His eyes darkened with desire as he leaned in for a kiss, “And I want to …”

“Commander!”

Cullen started and stood up straight, moving to shelter the Inquisitor, who covered her face in surprise.

“Commander!” the breathless aide-de-camp said again. “I have Sister Leliana’s report, Ser! The one you said you wanted ‘right away’!”

“What?” Cullen barked, taken aback. He turned toward the aide, glowering.

“Sister Leliana’s report, Ser, the one you said,” the confused aide stopped. He looked from the Commander to the Inquisitor and back again, mouth hanging open. Then he said, “You said to put on your desk, Ser!” Saluting, he turned on his heel and quickly marched back to Cullen’s office door.

As they watched him go, Trevelyan felt the moment slipping away. “Cullen, if you need to go-”

Cullen swept Trevelyan into his arms, kissing her passionately the moment the aide was through the door. Trevelyan gasped at the unexpected pleasure. The Commander took advantage of her confusion and deepened the kiss. Trevelyan met his tongue with her own, savoring the Commander’s knowing touch.

When they finally came up for a breath, Cullen said, “I’m sorry. That was…”

“Long overdue,” Trevelyan finished, pleased by his skills. Her Chantry boy was full of surprises.

Cullen chuckled. “Well worth the wait, I hope?”

“Most definitely worth the wait!” Trevelyan smiled at him and rubbed her thumb over his scar.

Relief flitted across the Commander’s handsome face. “Good,” he said, leaning in for another kiss, letting his hands roam over her backside and up into her hair. Trevelyan, for her part, wrapped her arms around his neck, wishing his armor away.

They stayed like that, kissing with abandon against the parapet, as long as they dared. Guard patrols would be by soon enough, not to mention Cullen’s other aides. Finally they nuzzled, passion stoked for the moment, simply holding each other.

Trevelyan spoke first. “We really should discuss the reports out of Emprise du Lion, and the red lyrium traders. I’ve picked out a passage from Carlclaus, too.”

Cullen sighed. “I suppose we must. To work?” he asked ruefully.

“To work,” Trevelyan responded.

 


	21. Satinalia at Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Satinalia is a Thedosian holiday, and a much needed revelry in times of war. Andymion is the lover of Satina, like Endymion and Selene from Greek mythology. Ortemesia is a name I made up for the second moon of Thedas.

***

“This is ridiculous. I will not appear in public wearing this,” Cassandra hissed at Josie, Leliana, Vivienne, and Trevelyan as they dressed in the Inquisitor's rooms. She was wearing a beautiful purple velvet gown with a dawnstone crown of hearts on her short hair. “Who chose these robes?”

"Josephine had the costumes for the Celestial Court sent from all over Thedas as a gesture of goodwill for all our people. You look lovely, Cassandra. A most fitting Queen of Love and Beauty," said Leliana, smoothing her simple russet silk underdress and fluffing the woolen robe. Then she adjusted the delicate pyrophite mask against her face in the Inquisitor’s large closet mirror. The crimson metal mask covered the top half of her face, but then curved outwards and up over the top of her head in a filigree disc.

Vivienne lounged on the couch, clad in a black leather gown; a matching leather mask dusted with silver powder hid her features. “Darling, please. We all must suffer for the Inquisition now and again. You should see the Iron Bull, or should I say, the Divine Absurdia. Blasphemous!” she sighed. “But I do enjoy these quaint traditions, even so.”

“At least you get to wear small clothes, Cassandra,” the Inquisitor teased. “I’ve tried every piece I own and nothing is smooth enough not to cause the dress to ride nor the right shade to not be glaringly obvious. I shall be _au naturel_ this evening. The naughtiest night of the year.”

The ambassador too, tried to placate their prickly but beautiful Seeker. “These revels will keep the castle in good spirits, Cassandra. In Antiva, your role, and that of Varric as King of the Revels, would last for ten days and nights, instead of just one night.” Josie, in a golden silk underdress and light yellow woolen robe, placed her gilded sun mask on the Inquisitor’s desk while she helped Trevelyan situate the fine silverite tracery mask on her face and tie the laces into her braids. Like Leliana’s, Trevelyan’s mask covered her eyes, nose and brow, but instead of a full-rounded disc above her head, this one made a lovely curving crescent moon and was spangled with small diamonds and sapphires. Her costume also had two layers, a pale, pearly white silk underdress with a grey fennec fur sleeveless robe that tied just below her breasts and trailed along the floor.

Dorian came clanking around the stairs, “My dear Cassandra, Skyhold chose you Queen of Love and Beauty because you would be least likely of the lovely ladies to ever wear a dress. I have succumbed to wearing the traditional armor of the Templars, as you see, and out of shear perversion, well, just wait until you see our delicious Commander. Blackwall and Sera attend as darkspawn and Warden, respectively. Skyhold certainly has a sense of humor.”

Dorian smiled, the corner of his mouth curling under his neat mustache. “But I would be remiss in my manners if I did not say such a sight of celestial beauty I have never before beheld. First our ladies, Day and Night. Ever may you pass the time,” he bowed to Josephine and Vivienne. “And the wise Ortemesia, our quiet red moon,” he swept his arm to Leliana, who bowed to him in turn. Then he turned to Trevelyan and made a deep obeisance. “The beauty that is Satina, our lady of honor, down to the moonlight eyes.The men of Skyhold have no hope of holding on to their hearts or their lusts in the face of such beauty.”

Vivienne laughed, “You almost make me believe it, Tevinter.”

Josephine finished adjusting Trevelyan’s mask before she asked, “How were the tables and decorations, Dorian? Are they set in the courtyards as well?”

Dorian waved his hand at Josephine, “Yes, yes, all done. Cullen and Fiona have had their people busy all day, to say nothing of Cook. She conscripted the blacksmiths to watch the fires for the roasts. The throne of the Inquisitor has been removed to the undercroft. Several smaller thrones have been set on the dais. Other tables are in the upper courtyard and Cassandra’s small practice field, and outside the kitchens. Cullen had tents set up in the upper and lower courtyards for those that should not be making the trip down the mountain to the camps in the valley later. The Divine Absurdia blessed the ale and wine casks in the valley this afternoon, after which King Varric ordered them opened. Everything is as it should be – except the King of the Revels waits for his Queen and their Celestial Court, which lingers here in the Inquisitor’s quarters, as you see.

Leliana laughed. “Dorian, you must know the Celestial Court operates on it’s own time. Besides, you have to let the revelers get nice and full of their blessed libations and hard-won feast before the court arrives for the theatricals, no?”

Dorian walked out onto the porch overlooking the cloister garden and the rest of Skyhold. The rank and file of the Inquisition forces were well on their way to full Satinalian debauchery.The peoples of Skyhold wore every manner of costume – from simple masks to complete transformations. Gods and heroes out of elven myth drank and feasted next to dwarven paragons, who in turn cavorted with mages, clerics, and demons of every kind. There were even a few brave souls dressed as Qunari, complete with papier-mâché horns.

The moons, Dorian noted, had just risen over the horizon. Red Ortemesia hung full and dull behind the brighter silver Satina. “Come, Celestians, the moons have risen, the people are moonstruck, and the theatricals poised and ready.”

Dorian snapped to attention and saluted the ladies, “Your honor guard awaits,” he said as they aligned themselves and made their way down to the hall.

Dorian opened the door from Trevelyan’s quarters to the Main Hall slowly, so they could peek at the festivities for a moment. The hall looked beautiful. The old wooden chairs, found in one of the tower rooms when they moved to Skyhold, had been transformed into thrones with garlands of wheat and ropes of strung apples. Pumpkins and other harvestmere fruits and flowers decorated the hall and the banquet tables.

Varric wore purple Antivan royal robes that matched Cassandra’s gown, and a similar, if more masculine, crown. He was holding forth with some story about a Rivaini pirate he knew who had apparently attempted to seduce the Arishok while he was occupying Kirkwall. The Divine Absurdia sat to his left, pretending to be offended and hurling bits of scripture at him as insults. Trevelyan wondered where they had found Chantry robes big enough to fit the Iron Bull, and when he’d learned enough of the Chant to make this interaction the cause of more than one spilled beverage.

When Varric’s story ended, Dorian entered the hall and announced the Celestial Court. Cassandra entered with all the regal hauteur befitting a queen. King Varric greeted her, and then guided her to the throne next to his own. Josephine and Vivienne entered together, with Leliana following them. Finally, only the throne in the center remained. At the blast of the war horns, Trevelyan entered the hall. Varric came down from the dais and offered her his hand, passing each member of the court who gave Trevelyan a small nod.

Once he had guided her to the throne in the center, Varric declared, “As your King, I hereby declare the Celestial Court open, and invite all performers and singers to do their worst – I mean their best!”

The first troupe, a very funny play about a group of friends that trick two of their number in order to see them begin a romance, included audience members in the action, and at several points required beverages be quaffed in honor of the success of the trickery and mistaken identities.

As the players were taking their bows, Dorian suddenly barged through the crowd, dragging two very reluctant men, one human, one elven, by the arms. “Your Majesties, Your Divine Graces and glowing Celestials, I have very churlish prisoners to bring before you for judgment.” He pushed them both forward, “Kneel before the Celestial Court.”

Solas was the first to bend a knee. Dressed as a bare-chested elven hunter in a black suede kilt and matching woven leather Dalish boots, he seemed amused by the revels, if aloof. Still, his expression was of good-natured expectation and his bow graceful.

Cullen, on the other hand, looked out of sorts. Unarmored, he wore mage’s robes of midnight blue wool spangled with stars embroidered in silver thread. The woolen robes clung to his broad shoulders well, and being fitted and belted at his waist, did little to obscure the commander’s physique. He went to his knees as well, but winced as he did so.

“What charges bring you before this court, Knight-Commander Dorian?” queried King Varric.

Dorian gestured to Solas. “This one was found in the library, reading a book, Ser.” The crowd booed and hissed, as was their expected roll.

“And this one,” Dorian shoved Cullen’s shoulder, “First Enchanter Cullen was found in his office, at _work._ He has not yet had one libation nor attempted to entrance one person of the court. Kisses have not been stolen in the moonlight.” Again, the crowd made the appropriate negative noises.

Varric rubbed his chin, saying, “These are serious charges indeed, on Satinalia.” 

“As Knight-Commander of Skyhold, I ask that the court be strict with these two – being serious on Satinalia is an offence to the Celestial order.” Dorian drew his wooden sword and menaced the two men for the benefit of the crowd.

“It is good that I planned for just such an occasion,” said King Varric, waving Elswyth over to him. She carried a box, which she placed on the lap of the Queen of Love and Beauty. “Open it please, my Queen, and hold it up.”

Cassandra, grateful to be spared a speaking part in all of this, opened the box and removed the mask within. It was made of leather and grey fur, with the prick ears and long snout of a wolf.

“You, Solas, shall be transformed into a wolf. You shall be the guardian of our lady moon Satina, sitting at her feet and feeling her sway. Whenever the Lady Satina is made to laugh, you shall howl ‘til the hall echoes with your song. Should she be made to cry, you will defend her happiness.”

Trevelyan laughed heartily at Solas’ appalled expression. Elswyth smirked from her place by Satina's chair.

Varric continued, “If the Queen of Love and Beauty would be so kind as to perform the transformation.”Cassandra rose and walked to Solas. The mask had broad leather straps that could be tied at the back of Solas’ head.

Once he was masked, Solas bayed loudly, to the great delight of the hall, and scampered to Trevelyan’s side, sitting at her feet and placing his head along her lap.He gazed at her, and Trevelyan laughed behind her hand, a bit embarrassed for her friend.She patted her wolf’s head as it lie against her leg. “What a good boy!”

“Good man,” said Varric in acknowledgment of Solas’ enthusiasm.

“And what of the mage, King of the Revels?” Dorian prodded Cullen in the bum with the wooden sword.

Varric thought a moment, “Steward! Bring me the Ancestor’s Stone I know the Inquisitor has in the cellars below. The blue glowing bottle. One shot will catch First Enchanter Cullen up to the rest of the revelers. And the ladies might need to be on their guard, because the rumors about Ancestor’s Stone and humans are true.” There was some hopeful whispering in the crowd as one of the stewards ran off to fetch the bottle.

Cassandra touched Varric on the sleeve saying, “My King, does not Ancestor’s Stone have lyrium in it?” Her voice was loud enough to carry over the whispering of the crowd.

Trevelyan sat up and stopped petting Solas’ head, her mind racing. Cullen wasn’t ready to share his decision to break free of lyrium with the whole of Skyhold. It was important to be sure it could be done without causing people to doubt their commander.

Varric nodded. “Yes, my Queen. But that shouldn’t matter to mages or Templars.” Varric looked at Cassandra quizzically. It was clear he didn’t know that Cullen had given up lyrium when he left the Templars in Kirkwall.

Cullen’s expression darkened with dismay and he leapt to his feet. “But I have to be responsible…” he stopped. Dorian menaced Cullen dramatically with his wooden sword, eventually smacking him on the butt with the flat of the blade, much to the amusement of Skyhold.

Cassandra tried to stall. She appeared to be annoyed, but a keen observer could just detect an amused tick to the corner of her mouth.

“My King, a man with his skills might actually be a danger to the women of Skyhold. You must remember the last time you gave him Ancestor’s Stone?”Again the crowd whispered excitedly.

Varric patted her hand, still at a loss for her questions. “As you well know, hardly any lady here would mind being accosted by First Enchanter Cullen’s _skills_ , my Queen. You enjoyed them yourself, just that once.” Cassandra smirked in spite of herself, and Cullen blushed. The hall erupted in bawdy laughter. Many of the ladies, and more than one gentleman, offered their bodies as defense against the First Enchanter of Satinalia.

Dorian waved his sword, “Do not fear, Skyhold, should anyone need defending against the First Enchanter, as your Knight-Commander I would be happy, I mean, obliged to intervene.” Dorian’s serious expression and tone was belied by the glint in his eyes. Cullen seemed amused and horrified at once at the public display, not to mention the threatened lyrium-laced drink.

The steward returned with the faintly glowing blue bottle, and King Varric poured a single shot of the drink into a small glass.Waving a hand over the beverage, Varric caused it to begin to smoke. Cullen looked like he couldn’t decide between vomiting and raging.

Solas looked up at Trevelyan, noticing her tight body language, and Cassandra’s attempts at subverting the punishment. “Make him Andimyon, Lady Satina,” he whispered from behind his mask, “then he must do your bidding alone.”

“Of course, “ she whispered.

Just as the King of the Revels offered the glass to Cullen, Trevelyan jumped to her feet. “Stop! I would like to inspect him for my Andimyon!” she said in a voice loud enough to quiet the hall.Solas howled lewdly while there was much disappointed grumbling from the crowd.

Still, if the hall had laughed at Cullen’s expense before, it now fell to pieces as Trevelyan came down from the dais and inspected Cullen as he stood at the end of Dorian’s sword. She inspected him as if he were a prized Ei’Hearna stud at her family’s farm. She walked around him, poking his muscles, measuring his hands with her own, finally running her hands over his chest and backside, a whispered “forgive me” passing her lips just before she kissed him.

Surprise passed into relief and he returned her kiss.After a moment, and loud applause, they broke the kiss and Trevelyan took his hand and dragged him closer to the dais. “Your Majesties, as is my right, I claim First Enchanter Cullen as Andimyon on this Satinalia. As such, I decree he is not to eat a bite nor drink a drop unless it is from my own hand. I will need him - clear headed - for later.” Trevelyan gave the assembly a saucy look, setting them chuckling.

Cassandra let out the breath she had been holding.“Do you know what the responsibilities of Andimyon are, First Enchanter Cullen?”

Cullen lowered his gaze to the floor, “Yes, I do, my Queen. No need to explain.”

“I would like to hear it, if you please, Queen Cassandra,” said Krem, who was dressed as the Archon of the Tevinter Imperium. “You can never be sure what you provincials get up to here in the out-back.” Krem winked at Dorian.

Cassandra nodded. “As you know, Andimyon is Satina’s lover who sleeps at her side each day. To be chosen as Andimyon for Satinalia is an honor. Satinalian revels do not require Satina to be so bold. Andimyon is to do Satina’s bidding and please her in all things.”Cassandra made a good queen for a noble bent on forgetting her titles.

King Varric smiled. “You are skipping the best part, Queen Cassandra. Archon, at the end of the evening’s revels, Andimyon literally takes Satina to bed.”

Skyhold’s reaction to this bit of news was loud and a bit vulgar. The footman brought yet another box from Josephine’s office and presented it to Trevelyan. She took the Andimyon mask from inside the box and tied it onto Cullen. It was simple, compared to many of the masks in the room. Midnight blue leather passed over the upper part of the face, while silver ribbons held it in place. A crescent moon cutout over the right eye marked him as Satina’s.

A stool was brought out and placed next to Trevelyan’s throne. As Cullen walked her to her throne he said, “Thank You. As crazy as I’m sure the rest of the evening will get, I appreciate your intervention.”

Trevelyan pulled him down a bit to whisper in his ear, “I’ll expect nothing less than your best tonight, Andimyon,” and then winked at him as she took her throne.

He grinned, “I always give you my best, my lady,” and took his seat.

Solas howled again, then leaned against Trevelyan’s legs. Trevelyan’s hand patted her wolf’s furry head absently. Solas’ cool blue eyes closed for a moment. When they fluttered open he sat up straight, pulling away from her lap and legs to adjust the flaps of the kilt. Even so, the leather did little to shield him from the cold rough stone of the dais. Seeing this, Elswyth took pity on him and brought him some pillows for the floor. Leaned to the other side talking to Cullen, Trevelyan took little notice of Solas’ dilemma.

As the performances went on, the revels grew a bit more bawdy and the libations more free. Satina or other members of the Celestian Court were called on to perform small tasks or toasts in many performances. Prank gifts and real gifts were given and received by friends and lovers, often causing disruptions and amusement.

After a round of humorous Satinalia gifts, Cullen said, "I have something for you, Herald.”

Trevelyan lit up. “Really?” Trevelyan had gotten the Commander a gift as well, but had left it on her desk at the last moment, unsure if a short chat and some long kisses were enough to justify the token. She was elated he’d thought, as she did, that they were certainly some extraordinary kisses.

“Yes, my Lady.” He presented her with a small wooden puzzle box he took out from his robes. She had been admiring that very box on Cullen’s desk just a few days before.

She looked up at Cullen in amazement. He looked away from her.“Please, just open the box, Herald.”

Trevelyan opened the box, finding a note and a small length of intricately linked chainmail inside. When she picked the chain up out of the box she found it had a small silver bell attached. When it moved it made a merry jingling sound. The note read –

_“On silent feet a Rogue does go, a Shadow’s own fine Exemplar;_

_So a Silver Bell to give soft signals as warning to the bathing Templar”_

 

“Only too apt,” Trevelyan blushed, thinking of Cullen’s interrupted bathing. “I am so sorry. I wasn’t sure you saw me, and I didn’t know what to say, at the time.”

Cullen smirked. “It’s nothing, Lady Satina. The moon sees all in her gaze.” He took a knee, and reached out for the ornament. “You might find I am not really all that bashful. At least, not about my body.”

Cullen fixed the anklet in place. “For tonight, at any rate, I’ll know when you are sneaking up on me. Some other time I should very much like to have you join me at the basin in the moonlight, on silent feet or no.”

Trevelyan admired her gift. “Whenever you wish, I’d be happy to oblige.”

Elswyth took a step back, both to give the lovers some privacy and because her own part in the evening was about to begin. As she walked from her place behind the thrones, Elswyth noticed a shift in Sola’s body language. Whereas before he’d been careful to maintain his role as wolf and pet, his posture hinted that he was a little put out at Trevelyan’s lack of notice.

Elswyth smiled at the bruised male vanity. But still, she would send the wolf-mage some refreshment, both for his body and his ego. Most of the elven women were infatuated with the _harhen_ , so it wasn’t too difficult to find one willing to serve him before she made her way out of the hall to meet her companions.

 


	22. The Venery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Satinalia continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Venery, noun, [archaic]: hunting, from the Latin venari

Venery, noun, [archaic]: hunting, from the Latin _venari_

***

Not long after Cullen placed his gift on Trevelyan’s ankle, and a fair maiden elf brought Solas some ale and cakes, Elswyth, Terrwyn, and many of the other elven members of the Inquisition made their way through the crowd, taking their turn in the evening’s festivities. Other than Elswyth and the musicians, these elves were dressed as all varieties of birds, ranging in color from deep blues to plums, purples, emeralds, and iridescent blacks. Terrwyn himself wore regal purple feathers and carried a matching mask.

Elswyth, in her long dress and wimple, curtsied to the King of the Revels. “Your Majesty, I ask pardon of the Court of Skyhold. I have been keeping a secret from you, and I beg your forgiveness.”

“All is forgiven, on Satinalia,” Varric said.

Elswyth pulled back her wimple, revealing bright white hair and a small pair of lovely pointed ears lying flat against her head and causing a gasp from the assembled hall.“After my native clan died out, I became a ward of Clan Nicnavín. I have lived with them as if in family,just as Trevelyan’s Great-Aunt was with Clan Levellan. Trevelyan herself lived among a clan in the Vimmarks, for a time.

“Terrwyn and I, and many of the other elves from Ostwick, Wycombe, and Hercinia who have joined the Inquisition, would like to play and dance for the court, if it please your Majesties.”

Cassandra answered, “It will only displease us if our new friends do not play for us.”

“Thank you, Majesties,” Elswyth said.

Varric smiled. “What will you perform, Dame Elswyth?”

Elswyth smiled, “It’s something very rare and special, Ser.We have from Ostwick a skilled piper of _a' phìob mhòr –_ the Great Pipes. I have also found amongst the several Clans represented here enough small pipes for an _alas’nir_ , a proper ritual dance. We will only do part of them tonight, but these dances are from the cultures of the Peoples of the Marches, and show off their skill and beauty. From the cycle, we shall be dancing something called the Murmuration, in Common.”

Trevelyan gasped. “From a Venery?”

“Yes, Crowned One. The Downlanders from Orlais and Ferelden tell me this piece has become lost to their clans, so we of the Uplands are teaching what we can. Our cousins teach us of what they have preserved in turn. We wish to have a full Venery here in Ferelden when the season is more correct for taking partners.”

Terrwyn gave Trevelyan a saucy smile. “Would you join us this night, and at the season?”

“You would ask me to join the Wild Host this Chance, Oak Knight?” Trevelyan challenged merrily.

Terrwyn nodded with a slow smile. “We are not true Blood, Crowned One. I would take my Chance, same as the others.” He gave her an appraising gaze, then let it pass over Cullen and Solas.

A great rustling came from the feathered costumes of the assembled elves, as they moved and whispered among themselves. Trevelyan laughed and came down from the dais and gathered with the others. “I will have to change,” she said.

“I have brought your things from home. You and I will dress in the undercroft while the men begin,” Elswyth said.Then she bowed deeply. “But may the People ask a favor, Crowned One? A favor of the Lady Satina?”

“Anything.”

“We must turn your wolf into a bird, if only for the dance,” Elswyth gestured to Solas as he sat on his pillow.

Trevelyan’s face paled. “Is he to be the _-_ how do you say it in this Elvish?”

“ _Miavean_ ,” Terrwyn supplied, giving a sly glance from Solas to Cullen. “Solas is the strongest among us at Skyhold; it is his right, as you well know _cuz_. Bested me, didn’t he, at the sword dance. You saw it yourself.”

“Of course.” Trevelyan walked back to Solas and carefully removed his mask. He stood up languidly, his snowy white muscles luminous in the firelight. He preened for only a moment, straightening his black leather kilt and adjusting the coiled metal bands on his arms, but it was enough that Trevelyan took in a sharp breath in reaction to him.She moved away to set down his wolf mask on her throne.

Cullen frowned at them both from behind his Andimyon mask.

Solas strode to Terrwyn, who bowed. Then Solas turned and walked into the crowd, disappearing almost immediately. Trevelyan and Elswyth, along with the other ladies, moved into the undercroft.

Terrwyn and the others gathered in a circle the center of the hall. The elven musicians struck up the drums and the male elves began to dance, their feathered costumes rustling to the beat. The great drums shook those in the hall. Cullen could feel the rhythm in his chest as the elven men darted about, showing both grace and strength. The men faced off, two by two, establishing a hierarchy only they understood, until they danced in a circle at the center of the open space.

Suddenly, high above the heavy drum beats, the small pipes from Hercinia and Wycombe burst forth along with a new, lighter rustling as the ladies swirled into the hall from the undercroft, their bright plumage rushing and flashing. The ladies too, seemed to churn amongst themselves with purpose, as two by two they found their places along the circle.

At first Cullen couldn’t find Trevelyan in the flight of feathered elves, but soon his eye picked out two dancers moving impressively along the floor. These two were the most graceful, the most powerful of the ladies dancing. Too, they were nearly identical of build and movement; Cullen knew the pair was Elswyth and Trevelyan, without doubt, but at the moment he was unsure which was which, either the green plumed headdress or the black. Finally, they both swirled into the space in front of Terrwyn. The music came to an abrupt stop. The ladies began to clap out a rhythm, then Terrwyn let out a bellowed cry that set the musicians to their work. He tilted his head back and forth between the musicians and the ladies, finally taking up both ladies’ hands and calling out again as they began to dance to the drums and small pipes.

At Terrwyn’s call the dancers, in pairs or trios, began to move in a circle - turning, darting, gracefully moving as individuals and as one. Cullen was reminded of the great starling murmurations that came through Kirkwall each year as they traveled from their summer roosts in the mountains to their winter ranges along the Amaranthine coast. He’d always loved watching them fly in such close precision, shooting and rolling through the air like great buzzing shadows. The elves moved just like them, the pairs and trios changing now and then, as the will of the dancers allowed. Still, it seemed that Terrwyn held the attention of the matched ladies, who were only occasionally distracted by other males.

At a change in the music, the men went one direction, the women another. This time harps played the tune, giving the dancing a gentler tone. They whirled and wheeled like the birds whose feathers they wore, coming back together smoothly, some partners or trios changing, some not. Still, they danced on, the drums and pipes finally rejoining the harps. The dancers got closer to each other, the movements and the music becoming more languid, dreamy, and sensual.

Slowly, ever so slowly that it hardly caused notice at first, a deep, sonorant droning grew over the noise of the hall and the music of the dance until a lone set of Great Pipes sang out over the hall. The flight of dancers froze as they were, watching the piper of the _a' phìob mhòr_ strut into the space made for the dancers, the crowd parting a little more to make room for the pipes’ tremendous sound.

At a rest in the clarion call of the Great Pipes, Solas seemed to materialize out of the crowd in the hall. Poised on his toes, one arm above him, one arm out to his side, both covered in ingenious wings of black and white falcon feathers, he embodied strength and grace, even standing still. His mask, too, was made of black and white falcon feathers, and gave him a sharp silver beak.

Cullen could feel the mage’s magic rise and pulse through the hall, setting the elven dancers to fluttering and rustling, and causing his dulled Templar senses to flare to life. He could taste magic on the air. Another pulse stirred the piper of the Great Pipes again. Cullen’s blood rushed through his body as if he’d kissed a woman with lyrium on her tongue. “ _Spiritus Vivificat?”_ he whispered, touching his lips.Cullen was transfixed.

Solas shifted slowly, as like to a falcon wheeling high in the sky as Cullen had ever seen. Solas let loose with a battle cry and the Great Pipes began their music again, soon joined by the small pipes and drums.

Solas stalked the dancers who again whirled and wheeled, paired and parted, ebbed and flowed around Solas’ smooth advance. He would circle one pair or person, moving languorously around, along or against them. He was clearly hunting among the colorful starlings.

Cullen’s gaze was drawn to the black plumed dancer; he watched her peel off from Terrwyn and engage with the Great Falcon. They whirled toward each other, leaning in as if they would kiss. But a sudden tug at the black bird’s wrist sent her whirling back into Terrwyn’s arms. Her attention too, switched back to his fine, violet feathered frame. But just as he seemed to gain the black bird’s attention, the emerald plumed dancer stole into Solas’ winged embrace. This pair too, crept close but did not touch. As before, Terrwyn grasped the emerald bird and pulled her away.

Solas wheeled at the second denial and danced with a few of the other birds, seemingly uninterested in the black and the green ladies.But soon enough, Cullen could see him begin to stalk again, first the black and then the green. Then the black then the green, as if he was both unable to pull away and unable to choose. The ladies, for their parts, looked equally torn between Terrwyn and Solas until, finally, they both darted from Terrwyn, who was himself captured by another starling in a vibrant multi-colored costume.

Again Cullen tasted magic, and again the music changed. The trio hardly left each other space to dance, they kept so close. But then he felt a draw at his chest that made him rise slowly from his seat. The dancing elves passed him by as he walked in to the center of the circle.

The Great Falcon leaned in to the shadow-feathered dancer, and she bent to him, offering her lips. The corner of Solas’ mouth twitched in triumph.

And then she was gone, picked up and whisked away in a flash of midnight blue and silver.

The Great Falcon took a step back, but the magic built again as the emerald bird caught him by the waste.The air was fairly alive with magic at their touch, and the other dancers froze. Above the silence, the elf with Terrwyn sang out in a high, clear tone. “ _Ar’nic Navina!”_ she sang. “ _Ma nuvenin! Ma vhenan, isalan hima sa i'na! Isalan dera na aron tuelan! Ar’an!”_

All the elves joined her to repeat the verse, in a harmony so tender as to be heartbreaking, joined by the small pipes and other instruments. All the elves except the falcon and the emerald starling. They were kissing as if they cared not the whole hall was watching. The whole hall was indeed watching, but even in a Satinalian hall, they knew better than to mock a holy rite.

Cullen set the black plumed dancer on her feet. Then he kissed her deeply. “Will you translate for me, Herald? Later?” He whispered in her ear once they broke apart.

“Of course, Cullen. But I am fairly certain you already guessed everything you need to know,” she said, her grey eyes glowing from behind her mask. “How did you know it was me?”

“I followed the magic.” Cullen smoothed his robes and fixed his mask. “And you’re wearing my ankle bell.”

She laughed, “Of course!” Then she grew serious, her gaze moving back to Solas and Elswyth.

Cullen too, looked at the kissing pair. “Should we sit down yet?”

She shook her plumed head and whispered, “No. You will know when they are done.”

As they watched, Elswyth pulled out of the kiss, taking an unsteady step back. Cullen felt the Herald’s arm tighten around him even as another throb of magic pulled at Cullen and called the Great Pipes into song once more. Solas claimed Elswyth for another passionate kiss before he picked her up and carried her to the piper.

The piper lead them from the hall, each pair and trio falling in behind Solas and Elswyth, Terrwyn and his partner, following some precedence understood only to the dancers. The musicians followed them down the hall.

Trevelyan and Cullen, however, remained in the hall. “We can sit down now,” the Herald said.

“We’re not going to follow?”Cullen was confused by the strange tug he felt, the vague desire to follow the magic.

Trevelyan removed her bird mask, her face flushing at his words. “Maybe later, Andymion, but our other duties are not yet done, and they will not be back.” Trevelyan pulled him toward the door to the undercroft. When they were through the door she said. “Unhook me, at the neck?” she asked.

Cullen did so, then stepped back. 

“Now face the waterfall and don’t look back until I tell you to – I’m going to change.”

“Yes, right,” Cullen stammered as he did what he was told. Trying to distract himself he asked, “They won’t be back?”

“No, they won’t be back, at least not until much later. They have all gone off to find a place to make love. A Murmuration is both a sacrifice and a mating rite.”

Cullen could hear the feathers of her costume rustling, and a soft crunch. He imagined it fallen to the floor, pooled at her naked feet. He coughed. “A mating rite?

“Well sort of,” she said. She sounded muffled. A whisper of silk told him she’d slipped into the Satina robes once more before she continued. “Tonight’s was sort of just practice for the Wild Host during the summer.”

“Practice?”

“Yes,” she whispered at his shoulder. He started when her moist lips kissed the back of his neck, just above the collar of his robes. “Happily, there was magic tonight, but not so much.” She hugged him from behind, resting against him.

Cullen relax a little, happy in her arms. “So much for what?”

She chuckled. “For the elder elves to conceive a child. Though there was magic enough that some wombs will quicken tonight. But not Elswyth’s.”

She walked around him, now facing him in his arms. “But there was the potential for enough magic, I’ve tasted it before. Elswyth will be so happy, even if she doesn’t catch tonight there is hope.”

“Taste magic?” Cullen asked. “I could almost taste magic while you were dancing.”

Her head snapped up. “You could?”

Cullen kissed her, then nodded. “Yes. My history master, Ser Beedah, had read to us from an ancient tome about the elves of the Brecilian forest near Gwaren. The Tevinter scholar described this very phenomena – _spiritus vivificate, ex verb vita_ – the spirit’s breath, from the word: life.”

The Herald frowned at him as she placed her Satina mask back on, running the ties through her braids and placing the pins just so. “I forget sometimes, that you were a Templar, and were once bound to both magic and lyrium. Ostwick is still a wild place, on the whole, our elves more antique in their culture, yet more respected by we humans, and our feelings about mages and magic more temperate. This doesn’t bother you, Andimyon?”

Cullen shook his head. “It might have once, when I was a young recruit. But I have seen enough of magic now to know it is but part of the natural world. In the right hands, it is a blessing that brings health and safety, and in the wrong ones a curse to bring blight and death. It is not the weapon, but the wielder, as the saying goes. And if I have not the wisdom to know which is which, I have the senses needed to reason it out.”

Trevelyan, now masked as Satina once more, came back into his arms. “Careful, Andimyon. Or you shall make your goddess jealous of magic, and nothing so full of wrath as a goddess done wrong.”

 

***

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, Venery, noun, [archaic], from the Latin veneria, from venus, vener- ‘sexual love’.
> 
> “Ar’nic Navina!” 
> 
> “Ma nuvenin! Ma vhenan, isalan hima sa i'na! Isalan dera na aron tuelan! Ar’an!”
> 
> We Daughters of Navina! 
> 
> As you wish / My love, I lust to become one with you! We will touch each other like the gods! We two!)


	23. The Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Elswyth complete the ritual, to their mutual satisfaction.

***

The Falcon carried his prey out of the hall, and down into the lower courtyard, toward the circle of aravels near the wall of the castle. Terrwyn and his partner followed behind, along with all of the other elves. The pipers and drums too, moved into the lower yard. They would continue to play for some time, as was custom.

As they approached the camp of aravels, the Falcon set his prey bird down, but still kept ahold of one of her wrists. “Will you give them the blessing, Sacrifice?”

“You know this part, too?” Elswyth whispered.

Solas nodded. “Your culture is delightfully unique, Lady of the Willow, and is not my own, but I have dreamt of such things in the Fade.”

Elswyth smoothed her free hand over his bare chest, admiring him unreservedly. “All this wisdom and a Dreamer, too?”

Solas preened under her touch. “I Dream and I learn, my lady.”

She turned into the arm holding her until she stood in front of him. He crossed his other arm over her and took that wrist as well so that he held her restrained in front of him, the wings of his costume embracing her. She relaxed and called to the gathered group.

“Who seeks the Chance of this Blessing?” she asked, her expression serious.

Terrwyn and his partner looked to each other, bashfully at first. Terrwyn blushed under his mask, nodding. The many-hued bird smiled at him, finally saying, “We do, Sacrifice.”

“What is your name, and who are your people, that you seek to come under the wing of the Great Falcon?” Elswyth said. “For this man, Terrwyn Oak Knight, Son of Na Leannan Valley, does fall under the protection of the King of the Air.”

The young woman stepped forward and removed her mask.She had dark hair like a sable cat, with skin the color and luster of light brown sugar. Her sumptuous rounded figure and features were beautifully formed. When she looked up, her light olive eyes jumped out from their kohl lined lashes. “We have tasted this one’s magic and wish to take the chance. I am Gulbadan, Daughter of the Keeper of the Mycenan Clan, of the mountain hills of Pillikavu in Rivain.”

Elswyth gasped. “You are of age, child? And here with your mother’s knowledge?”

Terrwyn looked puzzled for a moment, but continued to wait with his head bowed.

“My mother sends me to the Inquisition, and I am free to choose. Like your own people, the One Who Sows guides our choices, Sacrifice,” she said.

Elswyth shivered in Solas’ embrace. “Go forward, Children of the Sower. May you find joy and be fruitful.”

She waited for others to step forward for the formal blessing, but there were none others of such important power present at this gathering. Finally she said, “Those brought together by the rhythms of the venery should listen to their wisdom and accept what blessing may come; the Sacrifice is made and flesh given so that the murmuration may grow anew.”

Solas whispered in her ear, “I have only the place In the rotunda, and it’s not fit for a holy rite. Where should I take you?”

“My home quarters, in the wagon. It’s like an aravel, just a little more sturdy. You’ll like it,” she answered.

Solas swept her into his arms again and walked to the green and silver wagon that sat near the battlement wall. Since her arrival, several large tents had been put up around it, like wings, and the tongues folded back so that wide stairs could be placed in front of the door. Solas set her down at the foot of the stairs.

“Do you believe in the Rite, Sacrifice?” Solas asked, still holding her hand. “If it is important to you, I believe I know my part.”

“Ay, Falcon, I do. I would take the Chance with you, if only for the benefit of the other dancers. Guldaban seemed quite determined,” Elswyth said, looking back to the tents and aravels in the encampment by the stables. “If you would have me that way, I am your Sacrifice. I am sorry to have kept the secret of my race from you. But Vella and I agreed to establish my role here before we told anyone. My own people were lost to me when I was quite young, and the size and shape of my ears,” she paused to take a breath, “they sometimes draw scorn among the Dalish. But now you know why I’m so interested in elven culture, for one of my ‘race and rank.’”

Solas removed her mask and his, burying his hands in her long, white hair. He rubbed his thumbs along the fine arch and point of her ears, so small and flat compared to his own, but undeniably of the People. “I have forgotten the word for these,” he whispered. “But I am not one to turn down such a rare mark of beauty, Sacrifice,” he whispered against her lips. “I have dreamt of such ears for what seems more than an Age.”

They kissed again slowly, deeply, his fingertips caressing her ears, her small arches blushing from their usual pale milk to a pink soft as cherry blossoms. “It pleases me to hear you speak so, Falcon. Now, let us begin the rite.”

Solas lead her up the stairs, and opening the small door, ushered her inside. Elswyth placed their masks on the writing desk just inside, then walked to the back of the wagon - to the niche in the wall where she made her bed. She took several large velvet cushions and tossed them to the floor; then she poked the coal in the brazier, stoking the fire a little so that it would warm the room. Solas moved to his knees on one, pulling another in front of him. Elswyth poured water into a silver basin, along with several drops of scented oil. She used a small sea sponge to stir the water before she took it and moved to her knees on to the cushion in front of Solas. She placed the bowl to the side of them both.

They made eye contact; Solas waved his long elegant hand and the candles grouped in lanterns around the room bloomed to life. At another small flourish the bowl of water let off a slim tendril of steam.

“I have missed having a mage in my bed,” Elswyth whispered as she reached back and unclasped the metal torque that held the front and back of her plumed costume up at her neck. It loosened, but did not fall as she placed her hands back down at her sides. Solas traced the backs of his fingers along the inside of her knees and up her thighs past the edge of the feathers. His touch was just enough to set her breathing to hitch. At a slight increase in pressure, Elswyth shifted her knees farther apart, but otherwise did not move as he continued to caress the insides of her thighs. Like her ears, the smooth flesh began to flush at his touch, inching ever higher under her feathered costume. His fingers grazed her mound, but only enough to suggest that her bare outer lips were dewy and hot beneath the dress.

After some time, Solas placed his hands firmly on Elswyths thighs and squeezed his thumbs, causing her to gasp. Now he used the pads of his fingers to tease along the outside of her thighs and up around the sides of her bottom and back down, still leaving her costume in place. In all of this, they had never broken eye contact, she in her feathered dress, he in the plumed wings and black leather kilt he’d worn for the dance.

At another catch in Elswyth’s breath, Solas sat back and removed the wings and the metal slave cuffs of his earlier costume, leaving him bare from his kilt up. He leaned in and kissed her neck, a soft, wet kiss that caused her costume to slip until it caught on the fullness of her breasts. Slowly, gently he gathered her costume up into his hands, but let his middle finger skate along her body, tracing up over the sides of her breasts and encouraging her to lift her arms so that he could pull the plumage free.

He made eye contact with her again before he let his attention drop to her body. As Sacrifice, she sat proudly, her shoulders back and hands at her thighs, allowing the voracious gaze of the Falcon to take in her round, firm breasts, her pink-tipped nipples pointing slightly up and crinkled with the chill of the room to invite his mouth, the smooth lips of her bare sex slightly swollen and showing her darker pink core. He took in a long, slow, deep breath at the sight of her.

Then he took the sponge and squeezed it over the basin, bathing her lightly, the trace of oil giving a sheen to her milky skin. He moved to release the volcanic aurum arm cuffs that wrapped like vines just above her elbows, but she just smiled and shook her head. He continued to pass the sponge over her alabaster skin. When he was finished, he took her hand and placed the sponge in it before unbuckling his kilt and pulling it off. She made eye contact with him, then looked upon him in appreciation.He was aroused, but not yet hard; gracile and sizeable, like the rest of his body. At his nod, she began to anoint him. His slim shoulders and well-built chest began to gleam like snow in firelight; his lithe thighs and buttocks, too. She cupped his beautiful cock in her hand and squeezed the sponge over it, letting the slickened water rain over him; he hardened fully at her touch, the head of his cock now fully free of his sheath. 

Soon enough she placed the sponge in the bowl and sat back on her heels again, looking to him to begin again.

“I was thinking of using the Mycenan customs, Sacrifice? For Gulbadan? I have seen them done,” Solas whispered, coming as close to a grin as he was capable.

“Ay, Falcon,” Elswyth answered, shifting backwards so that she lay on her back on the pillows. “The _Dara’felas_ , the slow rites of the the People of Pillakavu.”

“Let it be a slow devouring then, Sacrifice,” he said, moving in between her bent legs. He kissed each of her knees lightly, and ran his fingers up and down her calves before he laid down between them. He leaned to one side, reaching out to stroke her stomach, her thigh,the backs of her legs, down to the arch of her foot and the tops of each of her toes. Then he switched sides and began again, feather-light caresses down and up her legs.

They were a beautiful pair in the candle light, slender, but substantial, muscled but not burly.And like the rest of their race, smooth and hairless on their bodies, so that the flushed pink of her arousal was plain to his gaze. She raised herself up on her elbows to look down at him as he began to message her mound and the creases where the insides of her thigh met her sex. Applying gentle pressure, he rubbed her outer lips with long, slow strokes, using the light slipperiness of the oil to help him. He kept his up until her own wetness gathered at her opening; he used it to slide his slim fingers up and down her mound, squeezing her bud between their length.

Eventually, he slid his middle two fingers into her, leaving his index finger and pinky to press along her lips, then back out. In, and then out; in, then out - a deliberately tranquil rhythm that danced the line between pleasure and torture. Her sex became thick with desire as his fingers teased her.

Solas’s attention to Elswyth and her body never waivered, even as her face and chest went rosie and her nipples remained hard and puffy.She kept her breathing even and deep, allowing her head to fall back even as she remained propped on her elbows. Elswyth shuddered and fell back to the pillows, lifting her hips, writhing against him. “ _Ava em, Miavean. Ma nuvenin,”_ she encouraged.

“Vir’felas - the path is slow, Sacrifice, but I shall taste you anon,” he replied coolly, his usual detachment well in place as he concentrated on pleasing her pussy. By and by, her sex was fully warmed and her wetness dripped along his palm.

“ _Sathan, Miavean, sathan ma halani, ava em, sathan_ ,” she hissed vehemently. “ _Ma’nehn!_ ”

At her words, he dropped his face to her sex and suckled her bud, pushing his flattened tongue firmly against the swollen center of her pleasure until she wailed incoherent phrases of joy. Solas continued to lick and suck on her sex even as she shuddered in release. “I taste joy, Sacrifice,” he murmured against her quivering sex.

“I am a joyful sacrifice,” she said, catching her breath. “Are we ready for the Sharing of Spirit?”

He nodded, then helped Elswyth sit up on the pillows. They moved closer together, her back to his front, his legs on the inside of hers. He pulled her close, wrapping both arms around her, his mouth at her ear.

“I take you in, Sacrifice, your taste, your form. I breathe you in, _Isalan hima sa i'na,”_ he murmured against her neck, snaking his fingers into her white locks to pull her head slightly back, “Breath in,” he said, placing his other hand on her chest so that his thumb and forefinger rested on her collarbones. He felt her draw breath. He made her hold it for a beat before he said, “Breath out.”He matched his breathing to hers, repeating his instructions, “Breath in,” he paused, “breath out. Breath in; breath out.”

Slowly he pushed her forward and up so that she knelt at length, and flexing his hips, slipped between her legs and along her sex, now fully wet and open to him, his own seed dripping from his cockhead. They breathed, sheathing his length within her as easily as they shared breath and spirit.

They stayed that way until breath for breath, limb for limb, gift or desire, they knew not which, but were one. She held him at his thighs and butt, pulled him to her, while he caressed her breasts or tugged firmly on her nipples. Quietly they began to chant, “ _ar’na tualatha, ar’na himasa, nuvenir ena’lasa_ ,” and moved against each other.

After some time, he kissed her neck, and she turned her head so that they could kiss, soft, slow tongues stroking against each other, lips and teeth touching and nipping, before picking up the chant again. He moved his hand, keeping one in her hair butpressing the other against her mound as he thrust in and out of her silky core. They began to pick up the pace, but only just as he leaned back and she leaned forward. She began to flush a deep pink and sat back in his lap, reaching a hand back to caress his pointed ear. “ _Naa_ ,” she exhaled, “together! _Vera em su tarasyl_!

“ _Juvanran na su tarasyl!_ ” he hissed and caught her ear tip between thumb and index finger, pinching slightly, finally letting go of his magic, if only for a moment, the final requirement of the ritual.

With a sharp cry, they came, and came again, and again, shaking against each other and the magic that throbbed around them and the other elves in the lower courtyard. Falcon and Sacrifice moved together lazily, their magic cast, but not yet spent.

She licked her lips, whispering, “Many will catch this Chance, with magic such as this.”

Solas chuckled against her back. “It is good to know with all the time I spent wandering in the Fade that I can still make such magic here in this world.”

Elswyth went limp in his arms. “Mmm, yes. The Old Rites renew our magic; we worship the god and goddess within each of us, when we act as Creators, mothers and fathers.”

He kissed her; she leaned back, turning her head to kiss him more easily. They were both adept, and enjoyed their lips and tongues’ artful dance. “I give a kiss, a breath, Eternity,” his voice but a susurration against her lips.

“In bliss eternal shall we two exist,” she answered, then nipped his plump lower lip. She felt him finally slip from her, so she pushed herself to her feet . “Come,” she said, pulling him up and to the bed. “The night is young, and I would have you in my bed, _isalan ma gara suin em_ , before long, just as you are - all audacity and desire.”

Solas pulled her into his arms kissing her slow and deep before they both crawled into the feather bed and blankets. They continued kissing and stroking, whispering to each other in elvish broken with sighs and moans until he was ready to slip back inside of her. “ _Halam’shivalas_ ,” he said, a small smile at his lips as he nipped her shoulder.

“The sweet sacrifice of duty indeed,” she murmured back, before they were both lost to the magic again.


	24. A Man of Legend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andimyon and Satina play their parts, but a man of legend must set himself apart.

***

While the rituals went on in the courtyard, the revels in the hall resumed. A new troupe of players came and prepared their few set pieces.

Cullen leaned over and took Trevelyan’s hand, kissing it.  “That was one of the most beautiful ceremonies I have ever had the privilege of seeing, Satina. Remind me to thank Elswyth for that tomorrow. The castle has been so much more lively since her arrival. It’s a shame you miss so much of it while you travel.”

“Elswyth is of my household - in normal times I would be hosting the dances, and salons, and dinners, so truly, I don’t mind missing them here. I am used to sharing her talents.”

A stamping of feet called for them to kiss again - Satina and Andimyon were a well loved part of the Satinalian traditions - and so they did, with good humor and plenty of tongue.

When the hall quieted down, a player stood in the center of the space, and began to strum his guitar and speak. 

“This play be true, and terrible, but not truly terrible,” he said, “but if it shall be truly terrible, we beg forgiveness now, and give you leave to drink and sup so that you notice not our offences.”

Trevelyan hid a smile behind her cup, and waved for footman with a full wine bottle. Cullen looked as if his suffering had only just begun.

The player-bard continued, “We, the company of players, more usually find ourselves heaving the boxes and driving the oxen that move the goods of our good Inquisition. So, gentle Celestials, we come here with a story of our town that was, Kirkwall, before we came here to  join the good Herald in her good works. 

“We bring you a sad romantic comedy, or perhaps a loving humorous tragedy,  or even a comic tragic romance, as the tale is of humans and humans are hard to tell sometimes, where they be comical or romantical or tragical. ‘Tis the story of Ser Colin, a templar Knight-Captain, and his lady love, Analine, a captain of the city guard. Their love forbidden by regulations, the two meet with poderous secret, each night in the streets of the gritty city.” 

The teamster-bard went on in his very earnest style, and Trevelyan drained her glass. She took a moment to look at her handsome Andimyon, noticing his stiff body language. Cullen was visibly uncomfortable at the announcement of the storyline, and shot Varric a very dirty look. Varric threw his hands up in surrender. 

Trevelyan leaned over, “Am I sensing a story here?”

“Ugh, not really. You know Varric’s story, _Swords and Shields_?” he asked adjusting his mask.

“Of course! I had to finagle the next chapter out of him as a gift for Cassandra! It’s wonderful - awful, but wonderful!” she said. “Hot! Hot! Hot!”

“You wouldn’t say that if he’d used you as the model for one of the main characters. You would not believe the shit I had to deal with at the barracks and from Hawke, after the first edition came out. I could kill Varric,” he said through clenched teeth. “I very nearly did, at least once.”

Trevelyan tried not to laugh, but failed. “You’re Ser Colin?” she waved the footman over to fill her glass again. “The hot blond knight-captain the whole city of Kirkwall lusts after?” 

“In a manner of speaking. He looks like me, and acts a bit like me, but he’s really another city guard. It’s all based on Avaline and Donnic, a pair of city guards in Kirkwall, and one or several of Hawke’s misadventures. Varric just changed it because he said he needed the drama of lovers separated by their commitments,” Cullen rubbed his palms on his robes. “Here’s the thing - there is actually nothing in the regs about the city guard. Dating isn’t even frowned upon between the two groups. Happens all the time.”

Trevelyan laughed into her hand, as she watched the players acting out the first meeting between the two lovers. What was especially funny to Trevelyan was the comparison between the cheerful blond lothario they had playing Ser Colin, and the dour, serious Ser Cullen he no doubt was at the time. But there the handsome player was, strutting around in costume armor, making Analine and several other of the audience members swoon with desire at pick-up-line after pick-up-line.

Cullen handled the rest of the play with good grace, and even laughed at a few of the more humorous bits. The only other thing he said was, “I wish I could drink this night.” 

King Varric managed to rush them through the finale, and they were applauded and lauded just as all the others had been. 

Dorian described it as “Absolutely fantastic! A tour-de-force of almost magical romantical proportions!”

Trevelyan had a footman slip them some silvers and send them on their way.

As they were happily clearing away their prop pieces, Trevelyan leaned over to Cullen and whispered, “I know that must have been difficult for you. Why don’t you go walk the ramparts and check on the guard for awhile?”

Cullen smiled a bit, and looked at the Inquisitor’s flushed face. “Is that an order, my lady?”

“Would you like it to be?” Trevelyan loosened her fur robe a little, as the hall was oppressive with body heat, candles, and fires, “I know how you love following orders.”

Cullen opened his mouth to answer, but Trevelyan put a light kiss on his lips, shushing him.She leaned in to whisper in his ear, “I know you walk the ramparts at least once during the night; it’s your check-in with the rank and file. I’ll give you some extra cover tonight,” then stood and said to the room, “Skyhold, I’ve asked Andimyon to walk the ramparts for me, so that none are left out of the revels, even those who keep us safe this night. Please, leave him to his duty to me unmolested,” she paused and smirked, adding emphasis, “or you shall face the wrath of Satina. Yes, Inquisition?”

The raucous crowd responded variously, either in agreement or disappointment, depending on their disposition.

 

***

Cullen was only too happy to slip out during the next confusion of changing performers. Visiting the poor souls who had drawn guard duty was something he liked to do. Cullen insisted guard rotations and other important but mundane tasks were assigned as impartially as possible. He’d seen too many abuses in Kirkwall to stomach anything of the sort under his command.

At first the guards didn’t recognize him in his mage costume and called out, “Stand and identify, mage.”

Cullen stopped and stood at attention. “Commander Cullen, at your service. And I beg you, please stop using the word mage as an insult or a challenge. They are our allies – we could have never closed the Breach without them.”

The quiet bow scout stood up from her perch and stepped to her warrior companion. “Apologies, Commander. My friend here is from Redcliffe and is still a little upset about what happened,” she smacked her companion on the back of the head. “Now you apologize, Amos. I’ve been warning you about that.”

The guard rubbed the back of his head, but bowed and said, “Sorry, Ser, won’t happen again.”

Cullen clapped the man on the shoulder. “I know better than anyone that change is hard. Not that long ago I would have done the same. I still slip, on occasion. Just remember, making peace occurs between one-time enemies. We do not need to make peace with our friends.” Cullen paused, watching both guard’s faces relax. Finally he said, “How is Satinalia finding you this evening?”

“We’re good, Ser. The new uniforms have fennec linings, so the wind doesn’t cut like it used to,” the bow scout offered.

The other said quietly, “Please, Commander, don’t tell the Inquisitor about my slip up. I’d be right embarrassed.” 

“Not a problem, Amos. Tonight I am First Enchanter Cullen, and our Lady Inquisitor is Satina herself. No business until dawn.Though, if you need anything, let me know now.”

Both soldiers thought a moment. The bow scout finally said, “Ser, we are kind of hungry. Dinner was hours ago.”

“I will send someone with food. Should be some excellent leftovers, now the banquet has been cleared. Only when you see them come, make your challenge a bit more polite, alright?”Cullen smiled again.

Both soldiers barked, “Yes, Ser!”

As Cullen walked away, the warrior said, “Thank you for thinking of us, Ser.”

He turned saying, “It is my pleasure, Inquisition.”

The bow scout winked at Cullen and said, “Yes, thank you, Andimyon. Say good night to Satina for us, if you please.”

Cullen chuckled, waving a goodbye without comment.

Cullen’s circuit of the ramparts went on with conversations much like the first one, some recognizing the Andimyon mask, some not.He arranged with the Templars on duty to take turns bringing food to the guard. It would bring them good will, and be of good service, he told them.

***

 

In the lower courtyard, Cullen stopped to listen to the music of the elves. There were fewer musicians, but it was so less beautiful - perhaps even more so, as Cullen was able to catch, every now and then, the low sounds of love-making. Even more enticing, the taste of magic was present again - he licked his lips as if to taste the spice on the air.

It was the bells that helped bring him back to himself. He’d lost track of the time he’d spent listening to the music - he found it troubling he’d been so unaware.

Shaking himself, he turned to the kitchen stairs to see what Satinalian commotion was coming his way. Looking up the steps that curved around the hall and up to the under-kitchens, he saw Satina herself running merrily toward him, her mask glinting in the moonlight, the slight sway to her gait telling him she, like nearly all the rest of Skyhold, was full in her cups.

He flushed bodily when he finally noticed that she’d opened her fur robes, and that the moonlight made her under gown nearly as sheer as the moonbeams. He could just make out her dark pink areolas and the shadow of what lie between her legs. “Maker’s breath,” Cullen whispered, as she came down the steps toward him. He’d been semi-aroused before; now his cock strained against his small clothes.

“Do you see something you like, Andimyon?” she purred as she paused, using the moonlight to full advantage as she walked slowly forward, arms bent at the elbows, palms to the sky like an offering.

“Oh yes, my lady Satina.” Cullen started up the stairs, “I see the luscious moon, ripe and full.”

He stopped a few steps below her. “But so can the Watch, Lady Moon, and the camp below us, as you see.” He motioned to the ramparts above and the tents below in the stable yard.

Trevelyan laughed drunkenly and raised her arms over her head, trailing her fingers over the filigree crescent of her mask. “Can’t you feel it, Andimyon? The magic?” she whispered overly loud. “By moonlight and shadows - let them look.” She ran her fingers from her crown, down the length of her neck, and over the sharp points of her chilled nipples before trailing lower.

Cullen heard cheering and wolf-whistles from the camp and ramparts. Satina laughed and waved to the camp, blowing kisses as she did. He cringed, wondering what waking Trevelyan would think about the spectacle she was making of herself. Yet, on Satinalia, no behavior was given much regard the day after.

Just as he was weighing the consequences of throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her back to her rooms, the magic in the courtyard built and flared, and soft cries of joy rose over the music.

“ _Naa_!” she gasped, and lost her balance on the edge of a step, falling into him.

Cullen clasped her to his chest in surprise, as he too, reacted to the euphoria of the magic. “Maker!” he whispered into her hair as he held her. His alarm passed, his training and gift telling him that though the magic was wild, it was the best kind, the oldest kind - a prayer for life - and no threat to the castle.

When her moans turned to giddy laughter he bent and swept her quivering body up into his arms.  The cheers from above and below were getting louder, and a crowd was gathering just below the stairs, including two nervous Templars. 

“Knights!” he said in his command voice, causing the Templars to come to attention. “The mages and elves are doing no wrong - they are worshiping their gods in their way. Nothing is untoward - by my orders, give them wide latitude and supress or dispel nothing, this night. Satinalian revels of all kinds are accepted and embraced by the Inquisitor and Inquisition!”

The two saluted and walked back toward the gate and guard tower.

Satinalia still giggled in his arms. “Oh, Andimyon,” she said, “how very powerful you are! I think I’d like to experience that power in private, as soon as possible.” Her pale, glittering gaze nearly making his knees falter. 

He took a deep breath and cleared his throat before answering, “Allow me, my Lady Moon, to escort you to your rooms.”  He began to walk up the stairs, carrying her back into the castle through the kitchen door.

“You can put me down, if I am too much for you,” she said as he used his shoulder and foot to maneuver the doors at the top of the stairs.

“Am I Andimyon, or not? It’s my duty to care for you, Satina. Besides, you may have noticed that I like a challenge.”

As they crossed beneath the Great Hall Trevelyan gazed at the frescoes on the walls of the undercroft. She said, “Skyhold really is a beautiful place, isn’t it?”

Cullen nodded. “I believe this is my favorite posting so far. Skyhold is quickly becoming home.”

Snuggling into his arms, Trevelyan said, “I feel so at home here, too.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Cullen whispered into her ear as he came out of the door to Josephine’s office and into the Great Hall.

When he reached the center of the dais, he waited to be recognized by the King of the Revels, Trevelyan still lifted comfortably in his arms.

Varric raised a hand to quiet the Hall. “Ah, Andimyon, I see the Lady Satina has found you!”

“Yes my King. I believe the Lady Moon is ready to retire, if it please you.” Cullen waited placidly for the bawdy comments to subside.

It didn’t help when Trevelyan shifted in his arms and those in the first rows of the audience could see her open robes and the shades of her body beneath the silver silk. Even more suggestive comments erupted.

Varric clapped twice, saying, “Go then, Andimyon. I think all of Skyhold can see the lady moon is more than ready for bed.” The laughter this time was more subdued. Trevelyan kicked her feet slightly, and the bell tinkled merrily as a stoic Cullen carried Trevelyan from the room, followed by the revelers.

Trevelyan trailed a finger over Cullen’s scar as he carried her up the tower stairs. “They will follow us to my door, and we will be guarded until full daylight tomorrow. No dispatches can save you tonight,” she laughed.

“As my lady wishes,” Cullen said.

When they reached the door to her room proper, she tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Set me down, I have to discharge the court.”

Cullen set her down gently, keeping himself between her open robe and the revelers. He deftly adjusted and tied her fur robe before stepping to the side.

“My lords, ladies, and gentle-sers,” Trevelyan intoned in mock seriousness, “You have upheld my revels with an open heart, and so I discharge you now to your personal moonstruck merriment! Come Andimyon, our slumber awaits!” She grabbed Cullen by the hand and pulled him through her door, bells chiming gaily as she climbed the stairs.

“Have a great night, Curly!” Varric yelled before slamming the door shut.

As soon as she reached the top of the stairs, Trevelyan turned toward her desk, the Commander still in tow. “There,” she said, gesturing to the large wrapped package on her desk. “Your gift, Andimyon. No rhyming couplet, though. You did better.”

Cullen blushed. He tore the brown paper carefully, as if he didn’t want to harm it at all.

“Come on,” Trevelyan urged, excited to see his reaction to her gift.

Finally he pulled the paper aside. Inside he found a beautiful leather bound copy of _The Legend of Calenhad, Chapter III_. It was nearly a match to the two he had in his office. Delighted, he kissed Trevelyan thoroughly before turning back to the book. He opened it slowly, reverently. He ran a fingertip over the illuminations, reading ‘With the allegiance of Arl Myriddin, Calenhad began his rise to greatness.’

“How did you know?” he asked.

“The bookseller in Redcliffe asked me to tell you he’d found several copies, just as you requested. I asked him to show them to me, and I chose this one to match those in your office. He almost didn’t sell it to me, until I promised it would be a Satinalia gift for you.” Trevelyan kissed him on the cheek. “I had to get you to my room somehow. It never occurred to me to make you Andimyon.”

Cullen closed the book, looking away from Trevelyan’s upturned face. “I haven’t gotten a real Satinalia gift in years. Not since I was at home on leave in Honnleath, before I left for the Circle Tower. Thank you, my lady, it’s wonderful.”

“It was my pleasure,” Trevelyan squeezed his arm and walked to the edge of the bed. He turned, his eyes following her. Then she untied the fur robe and let it slither to the floor. Cullen could now see the silhouette of her smooth back and pert backside in the firelight.

“Come here, Andimyon. I need help getting out of my mask,” she said, raising her hands to her hair, fumbling for the pins and ribbons that kept her mask in place. She turned slightly, and Cullen could see the side of her full breast swaying beneath her silk shift.

Maker’s breath, he thought again, and began running the Litany of Adralla in his head to take his mind off of her luscious body as he slowly crossed the room. By the time he reached her, his hands had stopped trembling and he felt more in control of himself. After fumbling a bit with the ribbons, Cullen was able to remove the mask from Trevelyan’s face, leaving her braided hair in its pinned bun.

She caught him in a passionate kiss as soon as he lowered her mask. He answered the kiss, and allowed her to tug him down onto their sides on the bed. They kissed deeply, and slowly, savoring each other’s caresses. His hands roamed over the silk shift, the gossamer fabric the only thing that kept his bare hands from her body.He felt her hands run over the fine wool of his robes. He’d worn armor for so long, it was almost as if he were naked under her hands.

Then they both began to get more aggressive, more rough, until Trevelyan bit his lip and pushed him onto his back. She slid her hand down the fine wool of his robes, letting her fingers trail along the top of his belt. Just as she began to move lower, he caught her hand in his own.

“My lady Moon, what are you doing?” he asked calmly.

She chuckled drunkenly. “Surely you already know,” she whispered, trying to remove her hand from his grip. “Silly Chantry boys.”

Cullen held her hand easily and sat up, raising his knee to keep them separated.

Trevelyan too sat up and kissed along his neck. Cullen felt the flutter of her tongue, followed by the gentle pressure of her teeth. He groaned, but did not release her hand. Finally, he simply said, “Satina, I want you to stop.”

Trevelyan looked up into his serious brown eyes. He saw the confusion in her grey eyes, as well as the desire. Then her expression closed down a bit. “Do you, do you not want me?” Trevelyan’s voice broke as she pulled slightly way, veiling her body a little from his view.

Cullen blew out his breath. “Maker’s balls, of course I want you.”He took her hand and guided it into the opening of his robes, finally placing her hand over his firm cock. Her hand caressed his member over his small clothes, lingering over the shaft, weighing it in her palm. “I want you so much it is taking all of my self-control and the Litany of Adralla to not tear that silk from your body and bury myself in you. Repeatedly. Until we both cry out,” was his hoarse whisper.

“Oh,” she cooed, and squeezed his member gently.

He enjoyed the sensations of her hand playing over his hot manhood for a moment more before stopping her again. “Maker’s breath, you move me,” he whispered. “But I know you are not yourself this night, so this maybe difficult for you to understand. Maker knows it is difficult enough to say, with you dressed like that,” he gazed hungrily at her body. He closed his eyes and swallowed before he continued. “If it were just sex I wanted, Satina, I could get that at anytime, and not only from you. The women of Skyhold are not shy. Even Dorian has made his interest known. But sex isn’t all that I want in a relationship. I want more, so much more.” Opening his eyes, he fixed her heated gaze with his pleading one. “Sex isn’t all I want from you. It isn’t all I want for us. So please, can we wait?”

He watched her frown, thinking being harder with her inebriated brain. In a moment she looked up at him, a bit of relief evident in her eyes. “You want more than sex,” she rubbed her temples, “you mean, real love - not lust?”

Cullen blushed and looked away as he nodded. “Well, not only lust.”

Moving slowly and deliberately, Trevelyan took off his mask. Then she cupped his face in her hands and made him look at her. “So beautiful,” she whispered.

Cullen started to babble, “Please understand, I also wouldn’t want our first knowledge of each other to be some blurred, clumsy groping you agreed to as part of keeping me from lyrium after all this time.” 

Trevelyan put a finger to his lips, silencing him. Then she smiled and said, “Me either. Much as it pains me. But that’s not the only reason I named you Andimyon.” She sighed and moved to the edge of the bed, her back to Cullen. “I want more, too.” Then she stood and walked into her closet.

After she left Cullen rubbed his face and whispered to himself, “Maker’s great hairy balls, what are you thinking, Rutherford?”

He looked up when he heard her say, “Can you help me with these pins?”

She was standing next to the bed, dressed in a flannel nightdress that covered her neck to ankle and wrist to wrist. She tugged blindly at the braids that crisscrossed her head. She smiled at him.

Relieved, Cullen grinned, saying, “As my lady commands.”

She climbed back into the bed and together they unpinned and unbraided her long hair. Trevelyan ran her fingers through its wavy black mass.

“This is the only time it has any sort of wave, otherwise it’s as straight as wheat,” she sighed. “I always wanted curly hair.”

Cullen chuckled. “My sister Rosalie has hair curlier than mine. She always wanted stick straight hair.”

“The grass is greener, as they say,” Trevelyan yawned. Cullen could see the evening catching up with her.

Cullen got up and helped her settle under the blankets. He could feel her gaze on him as he moved about her room, picking up her costume, banking the fire, pouring her a cup of water. She took the cup from him and drank it. He went back to the ewer and refilled it before placing it on her bedside table.

When he moved away from the bed and towards the couch she said, “Stay with me? Please?”

Cullen moved back to the edge of the bed, but hesitated. She looked at him sheepishly, “If you stay above the covers, and I promise to behave, I think we will keep your virtue intact.”

Cullen smirked and settled into the bed, encouraging her to snuggle up next to him. She curled up with her head on his chest, an arm and leg draped over him along with the blankets that separated them. He petted her hair as he listened to her breathe.

“Remember, Andimyon, you have to stay ‘til full light, or I shall be very cross. Tis your duty.”

“Yes, Satina, I know.” He felt her pass into sleep a few minutes later. He whispered, “It is both my duty, and my pleasure, Trevelyan. And it’s not my virtue I’m worried about, lady moon. It’s my heart.”

 


	25. The Goddess of His Dreams

Trevelyan woke to the bright mid-morning sun with a headache.She groaned as she rolled onto her back, wincing as the sun coming through the balcony doors fell across her face. She pulled the pillow next to her over her head. It smelled of Cullen, all beeswax and elderflower and oakmoss. She smiled, remembering their night together - and his early morning goodbye.

Falling asleep in the aegis of his arms had made her feel protected. Not a feeling she normally had a need for - she was more than capable of taking care of herself - but it was novel enough that she enjoyed the sensation.

When she had woken earlier to use the chamber pot and get more water, he’d been so lovely in his sleep she just stopped and stared, pondering their kisses and conversation as she drank down the glass. It wasn’t just his beauty, she was used to beautiful men; but what struck her most, what had always struck her about the Commander, was his fundamental decency.It being the grey hours of Satinalia, she should have woken hung over and well-used. It wouldn’t have been untoward, given they had been Satina and Andimyon. Indeed, it had been her plan.Instead she’d roused curled next to the man who’d made her feel hotly desired but ultimately cherished. And respected.He had made clear his intentions last night, had asked her plainly to assert her own. So she had. Now, her brain a little more clear, she could reflect on last night’s words.

As the Inquisitor, he was hers to command, so that despite often giving her advice she chose not to take, he was never hesitant in carrying out her orders. To be fair, his assessments were almost never wrong, but sometimes his way was too forthright for the bigger picture of Thedosian politics.Sometimes the finesse of diplomacy or the deniability of secrecy were required. When he disagreed, at most he’d bark out his opinion and then get on with it.

There in the chilly moonlight, as she tucked him under the blankets before climbing back in next to him, she thought of the Old Ostwick phrase – give a horse its head. To most it meant not limiting speed, or letting the horse have her way, but to Trevelyan it meant trust – that he trusted her, at least as his leader, his Inquisitor. What was she willing to do for him?

She remembered too, how he had begun to stir as soon as she had left his side; he’d been tossing and muttering gibberish while she went about her nighttime necessaries. When she returned to bed she settled into the pillows facing away from him, wanting to keep her word about his virtue. Just as she was about to drift into peaceable sleep on her side of the bed, he had rolled to her, snugging up behind her and pulling her to his chest. After a moment she’d felt him relax into deeper sleep.

Still under the pillow, she again breathed in the faint scent that was all Cullen. It made her think brash, lush, male. She was aware that in this new relationship she would be - should be - his equal, not his Inquisitor, nor his Herald of Andraste. And especially not any of her titles. He had made his position about their relationship very clear. They must both have their scars, no doubt. Given his history, he probably had more than just bad relationships behind him. Trevelyan was relieved Cullen had left the Order and was trying to leave lyrium behind.

She smiled like a besotted girl as his parting words echoed in her mind, so fresh she could still remember the feel of his hot breath on the shell of her ear. He’d leaned over and kissed her cheek, waited for her eyes to blink in semi-consciousness. “Shh,” he had said. “Don’t wake all the way up – I want to remember you this way. Last night I lay with the moon in my arms, a man of legend with the goddess of his dreams. I will be your lover; you have only to be patient with me, sweet Satina, sovereign of my eventide.” He had kissed her once more before leaving for his duties.

She pulled the pillow from her face and blinked into the morning light. Patience – he had asked for her patience, of all things.“Very well,” she whispered to the empty room. “You shall have your head in this, Commander. I will trust you to know your own path.”

She sighed then, and got out of bed, in need of food and Qunari brew.

***

 

After a quick bath in cold water, Trevelyan made her way down to see Ilia. She tried to use Ilia and Fiona interchangeably, to keep the peace between the Circle and non-Circle mages in the Inquisition. The old mage and apothecary had a steady trade in the light of the late morning, as did all of the healers in the mages’ tower.Last night’s festivities had resulted in some light injuries and many, many hangovers.

“Good morning, Ilia,” Trevelyan said. 

The jolly old mage smiled at Trevelyan. “Ah, Lady Moon! No worse for the celebration I take it?” 

Trevelyan smiled sheepishly. “I do have a slight hangover, but no other complaints. I’d prefer tea to healing, if you please.”

“Are you sure you don’t want a small healing spell? You’d be hale as a horse in a green flash.”

“Thank you, no, Ilia,” Trevelyan said. “I prefer to suffer a little, the morning after Satinalia. It makes the sweet sweeter, just as the bitter is deserved.”

Ilia’s eyes crinkled, and he barked out a laugh. “As you will then,” he said, and began gathering herbs into his mortar. He lowered his voice to a whisper, “forgive my forwardness, Inquisitor, but would you like a preventative as well?” 

Trevelyan was confused for a moment, but then said, “Oh, no. That won’t be necessary this morning,” she said with a blush. “But I will return to you, when I need to think of that.”

Ilia said nothing, just raising his eyebrows at her. 

“One of us has a preference for sober partners,” she explained with a sigh. Then she smiled at her memory of his parting words. “We are grown-ups, Ilia, and taking it slow.”

Illya smiled and nodded understanding, moving back to his task. “You know, the Commander has never come to speak with me about his - decision - as you said he might.Should I be offended?”

“No. The Commander isn’t like that, about Unharrowed mages.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s just stubborn.”

“I’m fascinated by the idea though,” Illya said as he poured the ground herbs onto some close-woven cheesecloth. “I have been talking to Fiona generally about Templars and their healing needs, which as it turns out, are different than a normal soldier’s. She says it’s because the lyrium in their blood- how did she put it - makes things more real. Magic, on the other hand, makes things as we will them to be - a state of unreality. Makes them harder to heal, takes more will.”He twisted the cloth and tied it with a thread, handing Trevelyan the little pouch. “Steep as you would for strong tea.”

“Thanks, Ilya.” Trevelyan said. “I’ll encourage him again. Anything else?”

“You should feed him well, too. Fiona said something about keeping the humors balanced - no fasting, no skipping meals.” He sat back down on his stool

“I’m in need of lunch myself. I’ll take the Commander with me. Take care of everybody, Ilya. Let me know if you have any concerns.”

Ilya waved a hand as she left him.

***

Trevelyan took a deep breath before she entered Cullen’s office. He was at his desk, as usual, and alone. “Do you have some time?” she said softly.

He looked up from his work and smiled at her, his eyes crinkling in pleasure. “For you? Always,” he said as he walked to meet her in front of the desk. “Sleep well, Beautiful?”

Trevelyan let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “I did, yes. I felt relaxed, protected. Wonderfully so.”

“Good,” Cullen said seriously as they joined hands. They both paused for a moment, smiling at each other before Cullen leaned in for a long, soft kiss.“I have wanted to do that all day,” he said.

“So, no regrets then?” she asked softly. “We were rather public about this last night. ‘A man of legend and the goddess of his dreams’ are one thing, but the Commander of the Inquisition and the Herald of Andraste are two quite different people.” She gave him worried grey eyes.

He shook his head and kissed her hand gallantly. “I have no reservations. Better that last night happened openly than to have rumors and half-truths running through the barracks as they had been since our kisses on the battlements.” He kissed her other hand. “I am not a public person, Herald, so while I would prefer my – our – private affairs to remain that way, I would regret it more if there were nothing between us for them to talk about.” He pulled her into his arms, tucking her to his chest. “All that matters to me is that now I am allowed to do this, whenever I choose.”

“I am sorry about the public spectacle, even so,” Trevelyan snuggled to him, her smooth cheek against his scruffy stubble, the Great Bear fur of his mantle soft against her chin. “Just how long have you thought about being with me?”

“Maker, Herald,” he chuckled. “I have wanted to kiss you, to hold you just like this, longer than I should admit. If Skyhold got a lewd chuckle at my expense last night, I was happy to pay the price.”

They kissed again, Trevelyan backing the Commander into his bookshelf in her desire. “Perhaps you should be more cautious, Andimyon. Satina had fifty daughters by her lover, according to the story.” The corner of her mouth twitched with a small smile as she watched his expression.

“Maker’s breath, fifty? How? We barely see each other above four days a month.” Cullen’s face blanked, and a bit of the happy color drained away. Then he looked into her eyes. “It will be some time before we will be,” he cleared his throat, “anywhere near, but, you have my word of honor that no unintended consequences will come to pass while we are at war. I would not put you – put us – in that position. A pregnant woman is too beautiful for battle.”

The man gave amazing eye contact, when speaking of serious matters. “Maker. Even your gravitas is sexy.” She kissed him again, then backed off, letting him have his space. “Let’s go to lunch at the Rest. I think better with a full belly.”

Cullen nodded. “I must eat, it is true.”Together they walked out of his office and to the battlements that lead to the upper entrance of the Herald’s Rest Tavern. They walked slowly, taking in the cool mountain air.

“You know Cullen, I was actually teasing just now, about the fifty daughters, though your response tells me perhaps I shouldn’t have been. You are correct. Now is not the time for something of such significance. Children are of great import in my family, in truth. I’m sorry I brought it up so soon, even in jest.”

“No, do not be sorry. Not for the joke nor the topic.”He stopped on the stairs, taking her hands in his. “I knew Templars, married Templars, who wanted children, planned children. But they were not something I had ever planned for myself. Mostly I planned to avoid them. If you survive the war, if we survive the war, I can see I will need to have at least thought about having them. It’s a rather different focus than on _not having_ them, if you catch my meaning.”

“You mean the difference between not wanting them and not wanting them at the wrong time.”She chanced a look at his face. His brows were crowded forward, concerned. “I will want children, but not until the war is over, at least. File that away for further - schematics.”

He laughed. “I will think on it. And plan accordingly.”

They walked onwards, side by side but not holding hands, no more overt displays of affection on the battlements, even as the guards and other soldiers smiled knowingly as they walked by.

“You know, though. At this moment, as I am coming to realize that I am allowed to hold you, that you want me to hold you, daughters as beautiful as their mother do not sound so daunting. Perhaps more like five, rather than fifty. Although that might just be Andimyon talking; lack of sleep hardly makes for good decisions.”

She looked up at him, his contentment plain on his face.

“I won’t hold you to that, but it’s nice to hear.” Trevelyan’s happiness at his confession was tempered with one other concern that pulled at the corners of her mouth.

“What is this face?” Cullen asked. “Might as well go ahead and ask. In for a silver, in for a sovereign.”

She made an amused sound as she exhaled, but he had a good point, so she went ahead. “You don’t have much patience with nobles. I am glad my title doesn’t scare you off.” As she watched his smile fell a little.

“I hadn’t considered,” he said as he walked up to the door to the tavern. “I have no title outside if the Inquisition,” he whispered, as if only now thinking of what that meant for them. “I hope that doesn’t,” he stopped. He searched her face, his brows pinched slightly. “I mean - _does_ that bother you?” he asked, his expression and tone as uncertain as she had ever known them.

“No,” she said with utter conviction. “If you care for me, that is all that matters.” She took his face in her hands and kissed him. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to put you on the spot. It’s just a little too important to be left out.”

He smiled again, looking at her. “Don’t be sorry – I’m the one who’s not very good at this. If I seem hesitant it is only because I haven’t wanted to be close to anyone in a very long time. To be able to share my life with someone here is unexpected; what I feel for you is - unexpected. But so wonderful.”

Trevelyan’s smile matched Cullen’s for a moment, but again, her expression became grave.“Cullen,” she said. “In this, I will ask much of you, as Commander and as a man. More than is reasonable and more than is fair. As the Inquisitor I already ask for miracles, and to your credit, you have always been able to deliver. As a woman, as a noblewoman, I must ask even more for forbearance and trust. My life is not entirely my own.”

Cullen shushed her. “You have my faith, and my trust, Herald.” He looked into her eyes.

Trevelyan kissed him.“I guess I’m just nervous. You must know I won't be able to share everything with you, tell you everything. I will be keeping things from you, I will be secretive.”

Cullen nodded. “I know the wages that must be paid to leadership, from both sides. I do not expect to know all of the Inquisition's dealings, nor your own.”He considered her serious face for a moment, then he asked, “At home, do you have your own role within the state of Ostwick? Some responsibility you can’t talk about right now?”

Relief flooded her face at his question. “I do, yes. My first loyalty, love, and responsibility will always be to my family, Cullen. Even before the Inquisition. You have my devotion and my patience, as you asked. It is my desire that I will be able to share more with you about my home - in time.”

Cullen nodded. His expression grew impish. “You have no husband at home, I hope?”

Trevelyan laughed. “No. I have no husband living in Ostwick nor otherwise, and I am not promised in marriage. I do not plan to be anytime soon.”

“Won't your family be arranging one for you? I hear these arrangements are all the rage with the nobility.”

“Mmm, perhaps, if I were the heir to Ostwick itself, they would suggest some families I should visit, to expand the Blood. But political marriages are rare in Ostwick. Should I ever choose to marry, my family only expects that I find a suitable partner - one I choose because of other, older, more important reasons to bond than politics.”

“A bond more important than politics?” he teased.

“Yes,” she said seriously, as she snuggled back into his chest. “The oldest bond. The only bond worth fighting and dying for – love.”

Cullen’s eyes closed at her words, as he simply held her against him.

***


	26. The Winter Palace

~~~~~~ Raven Scroll, From Halamshiral ~~~~~

Peaches –

I must say, I haven’t had a set of the Game this fraught since the Landsmeet all those years ago. What a deft touch it takes to charm in the salons, ballrooms, and balconies only to slay in the kitchens, the halls, and the bedrooms of a palace. Horseshoe does all of this with such ease. Would that every herald, champion or Hero could do the same.

Suffice to say the Lioness remains in control of her pride, though she will still be hunting her territory for hyenas for some time to come.Your tree is safe from the Lions’ claws for now; still, see about getting some blossoms soon. 

Songbird

~~~~~~~~~~

Cullen gave some final orders to the Inquisition soldiers collecting the evidence of the attempted coup and strode back into the ballroom. As long as the Inquisitor remained at the ball, he would man his post along the gallery.He let his eyes roam over the assembly, straining for a glimpse of the Inquisitor without catching the eye of any of his admirers from earlier in the evening. With any luck, he could make it through the rest of the night with his eyes uncomplimented and his bottom unmolested. Celene had to be tired. Surely dawn, and the closing of the ball, could not be far.

He spotted the Inquisitor, speaking with the Council of Heralds and the elderly woman he’d helped on the stairs just after arriving at the ball. Trevelyan seemed vastly amused by something the dowager was telling her and Germaine de Chalons, the head of the Council of Heralds. He thought the three looked towards him fleetingly, but he couldn’t be sure. They were all too well versed in the Game as to blatantly turn and stare.

Cullen noticed Solas enter the ballroom from the lower gallery. The mage approached Cullen slowly, shoulders straight, hands held behind his back. He moved with the usual grace of the elves, but an unusual dignity, even as he swayed in time to the music floating up from the orchestra. Cullen remembered his dancing at Satinalia; Solas’ grace was undeniable.

Solas and Elswyth had made a beautiful couple as they passed through the galleries, he in his uniform, she in the height of Orlesian fashion, down to the stormheart mask than covered her face.  Like Trevelyan, there was nothing Elswyth couldn't do, it seemed. Cullen felt a pang of jealousy that Solas should be able to look so accustomed to the palace and the Game. Yet here he was, an apostate elven mage in the Imperial palace, looking as comfortable as any duke in Orlais. The damn dress uniform even seemed to suit him. 

“Greetings, Commander,” Solas intoned with a slight bow. “Now that the soldiers are settled and Empress Celene safe, I do hope you will continue to enjoy the evening.” Solas’s normally inscrutable expression was actually relaxed, and even more nettlesome, carried a slight smile.

“You will have to enjoy it for both of us, Solas. I find this tedious in the extreme.” Cullen only just managed to stop himself from tugging on his collar.

“I believe I have already, though you did seem to have more admirers than me. Still, the serving girls have been more than accommodating,” quipped Solas, the wry comment curling his lips into a wolfish grin.

“You were lucky,” Cullen said.“I’ve had more obsequiousness than I can handle, not to mention unwelcome caresses to my person. I lost count how many dances I had to turn down. I was so distracted, I even turned the Inquisitor down for a dance, even though her offer was the only one that tempted me.”

As he spoke, Cullen’s gaze followed Trevelyan’s movements as she progressed through the ballroom and gallery, bowing, smiling, and pressing hands as many gave her congratulations on the successes of the evening. “The affairs of the Inquisition were my priority and the Inquisitor the only person I took any true notice of tonight,” Cullen continued, “I will take your word that the service was excellent.”

Solas tilted his head to look in the direction of Cullen’s distracted gaze. “You do seem rather taken with the Inquisitor, Commander. I can see why, too. _Dor’inan_ is an enchanting woman. In another time, she might have turned my head as well. To be able to wield the power of the Anchor is truly remarkable.”

Cullen nodded and smiled. “She is indeed a remarkable woman, Solas. On this we agree.”He noticed the Inquisitor move from group to group again.

“As it is, Commander,” Solas lowered his voice, “I find myself wanting to shield Trevelyan from anything and anyone who would hurt her. I promise you, I will do this by any of the considerable means available to me.”

Cullen had been giving Solas little real attention until he heard a low rumble resonate from Solas. “Wait, what?” Cullen questioned.

Solas fixed him with cold dangerous eyes, even as his expression was passive. “I would consider trifling with the affections of the Inquisitor a personal insult.” Again, the mage’s elegant voice was enveloped by an almost feral burr.

Cullen snapped to attention, “I will try not to take offense at your implication. The success of the Inquisition is my duty, and the safety and well being of Trevelyan my utmost concern.Whatever your cares for the Inquisitor, I can assure you, they pale in comparison to my own.” Cullen nearly found himself reaching for his missing sword.

Solas grinned merrily. “Good. We understand each other. Though if you’d really like to make her happy, you’ll follow her onto that balcony and ask her to dance. The orchestra will end their playing soon. The dawn has come, can’t you feel it? And I have a bed waiting for me.” With that he turned away from Cullen and began his languid swaying again, as if the growled treats of a moment ago were long forgotten. Elswyth joined him at the top of the stairs; they left the ballroom together.

Cullen knew the truth in Solas’s words and made haste to the balcony, passing several of his previous admirers without even a polite nod. He paused only for a moment, just outside the balcony doors to allow her to finish her conversation. As the woman Trevelyan had been talking to walked past him, she nodded, and for a moment he thought he knew her, but then he caught sight of Trevelyan in the moonlight and thoughts of anyone else were beyond him.

She leaned on the balcony railing just as she did the crenels at Skyhold when she was tired and too full of her day. The slight turn of her head let him know she knew he was there before he too leaned against the railing.

“I have finally found you alone.” He looked at her without looking at her, trying to gauge her emotions. He loved her in the moonlight; it made her snowy skin glow against her evening colored hair. And those silver moonlight eyes. Maker, nothing was as breathtaking as her eyes in moonlight. Finally he simply asked, ”Are you alright?”

She dropped her head low before answering, “The Game - the fighting, the machinations, the smiling. I’m just exhausted - it’s been a long night.”

Cullen rolled his eyes, thinking of his unwanted admirers. “We have all had our trials this evening, Herald. I won’t be sad to leave on the morrow.”

Trevelyan caught sight of his expression and smiled in spite of her gravity. Herald was as close as Cullen ever came to calling her by name.

Cullen leaned back to look at her. Her expression made him reach out and place his hand on her lower back to comfort her. “Although I have come to see that you are the most capable person I have ever known, I still worry for you. I try not to get in your way. But I do worry.” He smoothed his hand up her back, pulling her a little closer, but not so much so that people would talk. “I know it’s foolish.”

Trevelyan placed a hand over his and whispered, “It isn’t foolish.”

Inside the ballroom the music changed. “Still, one cannot say the palace doesn’t also have some beauty. Please, dance with me?”

Trevelyan straightened in surprise. “I thought you didn’t dance.”

“I don’t. But for you, I’ll try.”He held his arms out to her.

***


	27. A Little War Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Trevelyan leave the ball. As the sun rises, they play a little war game in the pleasure gardens of the Winter Palace.

***

When the music ended they were both a little breathless. Trevelyan gave him a brief kiss on the cheek. “We should head back to our pavilion,” she said.

Cullen rubbed his hand along her back. “I suppose we should. I have some reports to finish; you need your sleep."

Trevelyan chuckled. “All work and no play makes Cullen a very dull boy.”

He smiled. “All play and no work would also end badly, Inquisitor.” Cullen offered her his arm, which she took. He started his way back through the ballroom. He lowered his voice, “But I’m not opposed to a little playing at work.”

“Commander!” she whispered with mock outrage. Trevelyan adored being on his arm, as if under his protection again. Cullen could provide only a small buffer for the true dangers of a ballroom – rank and raw ambition – as he had neither. Still, she loved that he even tried.

Some of his admirers seemed to be lingering, she noticed. “Do you hear that?” she whispered.

He tensed a moment, his eyes scanning the room. “Hear what?”

“The sound of hopes being dashed against marble as we leave together.”She smiled and nodded to the Empress’s Ladies-in-Waiting.

Cullen straightened, his smile curling into his smug grin. Still he said, “I am only escorting you to your room, my lady. I am, after all, your Champion. Everyone in the ballroom knows that.”

“Don’t be so modest, Commander.” She snugged into his elbow a bit more as they walked down the steps from the vestibule to the outside doors. “I’m the one getting the knife eyes.”

She saw him try to look about without being obvious. He was getting better at that.

“Maker’s breath,” he said quietly.“Am I never to have a moment’s peace in this place? You won’t believe the things people will say when they think you don’t speak the language.”

“Don’t worry, Heartthrob, we’re nearly out of the palace.”

Cullen smiled with genuine happiness when they reached the last group of courtiers by the palace doors. One of the young ladies actually sighed out loud. Trevelyan suppressed a smile at the Commander’s distressed look.

“I would be perfectly happy to never set foot in the Winter Palace again. It wasn’t the gossip and backstabbing – I know what the Game entails. But the indifference to it all. It’s just so unprincipled,” he said, frowning.

“Hmm,” she said noncommittally. “I know you believe that, and I respect it. But I have always been taught that if we play, we must play to win. Nobody says I can’t play to win for the betterment of Thedas instead of just myself.”

Cullen was quiet for a moment. “I know that is what you do, Herald. It’s what makes it so easy to follow you.”

Once they were past the fountain and the gates, and well past the eyes of the court, Trevelyan reached for his hand, twining her fingers with his and letting their arms drop. “No need for such formality out here,” she said as they meandered through the garden toward the guest pavilion where the Inquisition had been given rooms and space for tents.

He blushed. “I suppose you’re right,” he said.They walked a little farther into the pleasure gardens.

“What was that called, our dance? Do you know?” he asked.

“I do know. It’s rather fitting, too. It’s called _Where the Elderflowers Blossom._ It’s a _valse_ from Starkhaven. Isn’t your cologne part elderflower?”

“Yes, it is. I’m surprised you noticed,” he said. “Templars often develop their own, to cover the odd lyrium smell.”

“Well yours is lovely, Cullen. Elderflower and oakmoss? Even a bit of honey? It suits you. I have thought so since Satinalia.”They both smiled at each other, remembering their evening together. They walked on in happy quiet.

When they were just in sight of the Inquisition tents that surrounded their guest pavilion, Cullen tugged her under a leafy bower and into a small stone and lattice arbor. He proceeded to kiss her thoroughly before he said, “Speaking of informality, how about a little War Game, Inquisitor?”

“Oh yes, please,” she said. Trevelyan pulled off her gloves and then began tugging at his.“I want your touch,” she whispered between kisses.

Cullen tugged his gloves off and threw them to the ground. She took one of his bare hands in hers, pulled it up to her cheek and turned her face into his palm.

“May I undo your hair?” he asked.

Eyes closed, Trevelyan simply nodded into his palm. He tucked her into his chest. She sighed as his nimble fingers unraveled the braided hairstyle she’d worn for the evening.

As he worked, she ran the tip of her finger along his jaw and up to his lips, finally tracing his scar. “How did you get this?” she asked, tracing the faint scar that trailed his upper lip. “It’s so small; a healing potion or mage could have cleared the injury.”

Cullen kissed the tips of her fingers. “It was in Kirkwall. After the Chantry explosion, after the Circle fell. For months, we were chasing down demons, malificars, and common bandits taking advantage of the chaos. There was a particularly bad riot that spilled into the Alienage. They took to terrorizing the elves. I dropped my shield a bit and a rogue grazed me before Varric took him out with Bianca. I gave my last healing potion to the mother of the elven girl they had been beating. By the time we got the riot put down, it was 36 hours later and too late for magic.” He caressed her now unbraided hair. “Does it bother you, my scar?”

“Gracious, no!” she whispered. “It’s like,” she leaned back to consider him for a moment. “It’s like sea salt on caramel. A little piquancy to cut the sweetness. Besides, a man of your experience should have a little something to show for it.”

He blushed again. Then he smoothed her hair once more, ran his hands into its inky length and used it to tip her head back so he could kiss her.

She leaned back against the lattice of the arbor and pulled him to her.She wrapped one lean leg around him and then the other, using her rider’s strength to hold herself in place. They hadn’t been this close since Satinalia – the last time Cullen had been unarmored and in her arms. She could feel his hot length through their wool trousers. “Cullen,” she gasped.

“Maker,Herald,” he whispered as he pressed his hips into hers. “I feel like a naughty recruit, snogging in the shrubbery.”

“Would you feel better if you were under orders?” Trevelyan teased and kissed him again.

He broke off the kiss to undo her sash and unbutton the top of her formal uniform jacket. As he nibbled down her neck he whispered, “Not now. I’m enjoying being insubordinate.” He loosened her jacket two more buttons. His hand slipped inside to caress her breast.

“Cullen!” She panted under his touch, head fallen back, eyes closed.

He gave the inside flap of the double-breasted jacket a gentle tug, exposing the milky softness of her breasts as they strained her small clothes, the silk puckered over her hard nipples. He’d been dreaming of them since Satinalia.He lifted her a little and sucked on a hard point through the fabric, causing her to arch her back, pushing her hips and her breast into him.

“Commander! How d’you always know exactly where to - send our forces?”

He pulled off her breast, the wet white silk now translucent, showing him the deep pink of her nipple. He nuzzled her other breast; her neck and chest were beautifully flushed. “Because I’m just that good,” he said before nipping at her other firm bud.

She hissed in painful pleasure. “Whatever, whatever I need, there you are.”

“Hmm,” he acknowledged, sucking on the other nipple, setting her writhing again. Sliding his hands down to her firm bottom, he pulled her against his hardness as he straightened up and kissed her lips. Her legs pulled him closer, pressed him to her sensitive core. He responded in kind.

After many minutes of deep kisses and knowing caresses, Trevelyan broke off the kiss with a surprised whimper and trembled in his arms, causing Cullen to stop his movements. He opened his eyes. “Have you just come undone?” he asked, taking in her flushed face and chest, her messy hair and kiss-stung lips.

She nodded.

“You’re breathtaking, when you’ve come undone,” he murmured.

Trevelyan gave him a sated gaze. “Have I any chance at a counterattack, Commander?”She wanted to celebrate their triumph tonight, to show him how much she appreciated him. Yet she would respect the request he made at Satinalia. He needed to move slowly. She suspected something in his past trouble him, worried at his desire for happiness, made him hesitate at each new step in their relationship.

Cullen took a deep breath.He studied her face, ran bare fingertips along her jaw until his fingers were in her hair and the pads of his thumbs rubbed her earlobes. “I want to say yes,” he whispered. “I very much want to say yes.” 

Trevelyan studied the man in her arms as they gazed at each other. His expression was adrift; it tossed between wonder and sadness, desire and distress.He was worth any delay. She relaxed her legs, took up her own body weight again. “You are correct, Commander. I believe we are at a draw.We shall live to fight another day,” she said, hugging him close.

He didn’t argue. They simply held each other. After a few minutes she giggled and said, “Though I do feel sorry for your sword. All unsheathed and nothing to stab. Poor Sword.”

“Bah, it’s my sense of humor that’s groaning in pain right now,” he said.

She stepped back and looked up at him with a giant grin on her face. “Well just make sure you take care of your equipment before you go to bed, Commander. Give him a good rub down. Wouldn’t want poor Sword to get rusty.”

 Cullen blushed and rolled his eyes. He started to say something, but the hiss of a crossbow bolt speeding past Trevelyan’s earlobe and through the lattice to sink with a wet thunk into a Venatori assassin just steps behind her stopped him cold. Inquisition forces surrounded them seconds after that, giving Trevelyan barely enough time to neaten her uniform coat and button one more button.

The look of utter horror on Cullen’s face just before he scooped her into his arms was enough to cause a delayed sense of panic to hit Trevelyan. Despite her vast experience in battle, she burst into tears just as Cullen barked, “What in the Void is going on around here!”

Varric stepped from behind the cowed Inquisition soldiers. “Now don’t you both start,” he said. “You were perfectly safe the entire time. I have a friend in Kirkwall – you remember Daisy, right Curly? – well she liked to go on these little wee hour strolls too. Cost me a damn fortune and ten good men to keep her safe without her knowing it. You two were hardly any trouble.”

Cullen’s glare was murderous. “Why didn’t you warn us?”

Varric feigned innocence. “What? And stop that beautiful love scene? Curly, I haven’t seen you that happy in, well; I’ve never seen you that happy. You almost resembled a human being. Besides, Leliana received intelligence that there was one more stray Venatori. Your little walk was a perfect way to draw the last one out.”

Trevelyan gathered herself and wiped her tears. “Thank you, Varric,” she said. Then she noticed the Inquisition forces were looking anywhere but at herself or the Commander. “Thank you, Inquisition. Without you and Varric the Commander and I might be dead. For that protection, I am grateful. If I may beg another boon of you, if you would, if you could please be discrete?”

After a moment Gervais stepped forward. “Your Worship, my last posting was at the White Spire. I joined the Inquisition when you came to Val Royeaux not long after the explosion at the Conclave. Being Commander Rutherford’s subordinate is the only time infive years that I have felt like I’m fairly treated and doing what I thought I was choosing to do when I took my vows. I protect people from magic, whether that magic is directed from or towards the person I’m protecting, it makes no difference to me. Or to the commander.”He pointed his sword at the soldiers. “Varric is right,” he said. “May it be the Maker’s will we all be so blessed in the future, to be in the arms of the person we desire. Who among us will talk? None of us, none of us will talk, out of reverence for Her Worship the Inquisitor, and respect for our Commander.”

To a person, the Regulars answered, “Ser, Yes Ser!” and formed up a protective cordon along the garden path.

“Thank you again, Inquisition,” Trevelyan said quietly from Cullen’s embrace. “Thank you, Ser Gervais.”

He saluted, fist to chest. “I am at your service, my Lady. I will be just outside your door tonight, as I have been each night this week.Call if you need me.”

Varric gestured to the dead Venatori. “I’ll take care of the body, Inquisitor. You two go on to bed. The sun’s nearly up and we will draw unwanted attention soon.”

Trevelyan nodded to Varric.

Cullen said, “Thank you, Varric.” Then he said, “At ease, Inquisition. And thank you so much.”

 


	28. A Way Back Can Always Be Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Trevelyan explore more about each other and their quarters.

***

They walked into the ornate Orlesian pavilion hand in hand, no longer worrying about what the Inquisition troops would think. When they reached the Inquisitor’s door he said, “Would you mind if I came in? I just, I’d just feel better if I secured the room before I retired. I’d like to make up for my failure of judgment earlier.”

Trevelyan smiled. “I would like that very much. I’m not going to be able to sleep right away anyway. We were both out in that garden; my safety is also my responsibility.” She kissed his cheek. “I don’t care how it ended. I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else but your arms, whether that is in a ballroom, a pleasure garden, or an ambush. So no more about that, please.”

“You are too easy on me, Herald,” he said, relief plain on his face.“But I am grateful for your poor taste in dance partners, at least.”

Trevelyan grinned and opened the door.

They both searched the room. “Commander, over here,” she said. She ran her fingers along the top of a large painting until they heard a click. The painting swung forward, showing a passage between the walls. They followed the passage to another door, finding themselves in Cullen’s room next door, coming out from behind the massive wall mirror overlooking his bed. “It’s called a _porte d’amoreaux_ here in Orlais.”

“A lover’s gate or lover’s door? Did you know about this all week?” he queried.

“Yes. Standard procedure upon sleeping in a new palace. Leliana and I checked all the rooms for passages and memory stones. Most only have a servant’s entrance, but your room actually has two of these gates. One that leads to my room and one that leads to Dorian’s room. Apparently the Orlesians couldn’t decide who you’ve been sleeping with – a useful bit of information, that. Sword apparently has his work cut out for him.”

Cullen ran a hand over his face for a moment before fixing her with an annoyed glare. Then his stomach growled, causing Trevelyan to laugh.

“Didn’t you eat at the banquet?” she asked.

“No. I hate Orlesian cuisine. All the odd combinations. And everything is too sweet. I haven’t had a decent meal in days,” he confessed.

“Come with me,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him back through the wall to her room.

She made him sit on the deep couch that stood in front of her fireplace while she opened up her clothes cupboard.She returned with a large woven-wood basket and set it down on the low table in front of the couch. She took out some cheese, soft rolls, butter, apples, pears, and assorted utensils. “I’m always prepared in Orlais. I’ve never liked the _cuisine of_ the Empire either. I’m going to change, but you dig in. Get comfortable.”

Cullen snatched up a pear almost before she finished talking. As he chewed he tugged at his collar, unbuttoned it, then finally gave up and took his jacket off.He tucked into another pear while she changed.

Trevelyan came out from behind her dressing screen. Cullen sat by the low fire, now dressed only in a simple white linen tunic and his dress uniform pants and boots. His hair and tunic were a little mussed, but he still looked delicious.

She fetched the cut crystal water carafe from her bedside table and two matching glasses. She gave Cullen one of the glasses and filled it with water. “You look more comfortable,” she said as she sat on a cushion on the floor between the table and the fire.

“And a lot less hungry. I hope you don’t mind my informality of dress,” he said. “I can’t abide those upright collars; make me feel like a mabari.”

“Not at all. I am not so formally dressed myself.” She took a roll and broke it’s crust, tearing it in half before buttering it. She watched him finish off his pear before handing him the roll and making another for herself.“It’s nice to have you around,” she said. “Just here to talk to. No titles, no work. Just together.”

“Together,” he said as he gazed at her. Her hair was in a messy bun on top of her head, held in place by 2 long silver pins, and she wore a lovely pair of wide legged black knit pants with a matching tunic top. Dark green silk banded the neck, sleeves, and leg hems. “Is that Ostwick cashmere?”

Trevelyan nodded. “From Ballie NaLeanan, at the base of the Vimmarks. This is what passes for pajamas in Ostwick. It’s damp there much of the year. If it’s an item of clothing, I have at least one made of cashmere.”

“I know Ballie NaLeanan cashmere,” he said. Cullen leaned forward to run his finger along her sleeve. “My mother was a wool merchant. Cashmere too, when she could get it. I had a blanket she knitted for me, out of Ballie NaLeanan cashmere. It was a deep green and light but warm.” A sad look passed over his face.

“What?” she said, her mouth full of buttered roll.

“I had to leave it behind, when I joined the Templars. I had to leave everything of my old life behind, and have nothing but what the Templars gave me and what I earned myself.” He bit into his roll and chewed slowly. After he swallowed he said, “I haven’t thought about that blanket in years.”

“That must have been hard, leaving home. I know you have almost as many siblings as I do. I have cousins literally all over the Marches - and Thedas. We were always having visitors, or going visiting. Was your house full of noise and family too?” Trevelyan asked.

“Yes to both, siblings and cousins, just like you, at least on my father’s side. I had a great family, a great life. Sometimes I wonder why I was in such a rush to leave it.” 

“You wanted to protect people, including your family. I can’t think of anything more noble than that. When I ran off, it was because I had too much of family. A rebellion. I’m just glad I was able to come back to my home again, once the rebel in me had had her fill.”

Cullen rolled up his sleeves, and searching the basket, found a knife for the cheese. He cut several slices while Trevelyan watched. “Were you running away from, or running away to?” Cullen asked, offering Trevelyan a thick slice. When she declined he helped himself.

“Running away from,” she said honestly. “But it wasn’t really my family I was running away from. It was my own choices. And the consequences for others because of my choices.” She stopped talking.

“You don’t have to tell me everything tonight, Herald,” he said quietly when she didn’t speak for a minute or more. “I know what it is when something is too personal.”

“I’m sorry. I just can’t tell you now. But I will tell you, someday.” She wiped her eyes. “As it turns out, I did run away to something. I learned how to sail a pirate galleon. To speak Rivaini, and to swear in 5 different languages.”

“I’m impressed. I can only swear in three. I’m working on Nevarran now. Cassandra is helping me.”

Trevelyan thought of something she’d been wondering about. “You can read and write in Antivan, can’t you?”

“Yes. I can speak it too, but my accent is terrible. Josie holds her ears when I speak. How did you know?” Cullen asked.

Trevelyan smiled. “The copy of _Strofe d’Amore_ I found in your office library before Satinalia. Erotic poetry, Commander? What would the Sisters think?”

Full of cheese and bread, he leaned back into the couch, stretching and placing his hands behind his head as he lounged.“Yes, well.” Cullen grinned.“Sword has to have something to practice with.”

Trevelyan laughed. “Commander, did you just make a dirty joke?”

“I would say I am full of surprises, but we both know that is not true.” His smile softened until he was grave again. “Templars are trained to be remote, inscrutable. Garrett Hawke calls me‘Frigid Rigid Rutherford’. As a child I was also quite earnest, as you can probably imagine. I am learning how to relax. I am trying to find my way back from being a cold Templar and into a normal, if serious, man.”

“I very much like the man I am seeing at the moment,” she said.She paused, then she stood up and went to her bed where she pulled a dove grey knit blanket from under the pillow. She sat beside him on the couch and spread the blanket over his lap. “I want you to have this, from me, the very best Ballie NaLeanan has to offer.It’s not a replacement for the one you had as a child, but a reminder. A promise, even. A promise that a way back can always be found, if sought.”

Cullen ran his hand over the yielding fibers. “It’s beautiful, Herald. How am I ever to gift you with something so lovely?”

“You already have, Cullen,” she said, reaching over and cupping his face. “You here, you in the garden, you at the palace, you in Skyhold, in Haven; just you is enough.”

Cullen leaned forward and kissed her lips quickly and firmly before leaning back into the couch and toying with the edge of the blanket, as if trying to keep his hands in his lap. Neither of them was unaware of the giant gawdy bed just across the room.

Trevelyan touched her lips for a moment before she smiled at him. “Though would you please call me Vella or Trevelyan? I call you Cullen. Maker knows we’ve been familiar enough.”

He let his bare hand caress the blanket again. “Please, if it is all the same, Iwould like to stay with Herald, at least for now,” he took her hand in his, but didn’t look at her. “In some of the most important ways, Herald, I am an inexperienced man. Should this not continue, should you choose another path, I don’t know if I would be able to go back to a professional distance. I am trying to - guard my flank.”

She watched their hands. “Whatever it takes, Cullen,” she said. “I look forward to hearing my name from your lips. When you are ready.”

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.Then he asked, “Will you share the blanket with me? Here on the couch?”

“Of course,” she said. He held the blanket up for her and soon they were snuggled into the couch, growing drowsy in the morning light. They could just make out the sisters singing Prime in the Winter Palace Chantry.

Cullen started to hum along with the sisters. It reminded her of his singing. “Cullen, did you know you have a beautiful voice?”Trevelyan said sleepily. “That night on the mountain, you sang with Mother Giselle and the others.”

“You heard that?” he said.

“How could I not?” she said. “Is there anything you are not good at?”

After a long pause he answered, “Relaxing?”

She chuckled. “Should I sing to you?”

“If you’d like.”

“Don’t expect too much,” she said. “I’m only any good at lullabies.”

“I love lullabies,” he said sweetly.

“Alright then,” she said. She took a deep breath and began singing in a soft contralto, the words of an old Elvhen lullaby tripping delicately from her lips. When she finished she could feel Cullen’s deep regular breathing, his arm around her, her leg draped over his under the blanket. “Alright then,” she said as she let herself fall asleep.

_  *** _

 


	29. To Sleep Is To Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams of Kinloch, as Eldred Attacks  
>  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bevan, Annlise, and Farris are mentioned as Cullen’s friends at Kinloch, I think in The World of Thedas.
> 
> I like italics for the dreams, because I sometimes play with tenses on purpose - my intention is to help the reader remember it is a dream, experienced as thought and vision.

 

~~~~~~~~~ To Sleep Is To Dream ~~~~~~~~~

_“Oy, Rutherford, where are you?” Bevan barked impatiently. Cullen started, his gaze tripping confusedly from the worn table of the ward room to the ancient stone walls of the tower – the Circle Tower at Kinloch. One of the old familiar nightmares._

_“Sorry,” Cullen remembered the dull crackle along his spine, the one that he felt when the mages were gathering will for a major spell or experiment. He remembered how the feeling kept pulling his attention away from the briefing. He interrupted, “The mages weren’t planning any large spells or experiments today, were they?” He rubbed his gauntleted hand over his freshly shorn hair._

_Farris checked his notes, then frowned at Cullen. “Neither First Enchanter Irving nor Knight-Commander Greagoir made me aware of anything. What’s the matter?”_

_Cullen shifted in his seat and closed his eyes, concentrating on the buzz at the back of his brain. “Something…something isn’t right upstairs.”_

_“Irving and Uldred were having an argument earlier, maybe that’s it,” offered Bevan. “Annlise told me she overheard them on her way back up from the storage room.”_

_Farris’ gaze scoured Cullen’s tense, pale and sweaty face. Finally he said, “Templars muster quietly in the barracks, contact who you can on the way. We will be doing a room to room sweep of the tower,” he paused, his tone ominous, “This is not a drill.”_

_Cullen felt a wash of fondness for Farris and Bevan. Farris was an officer just a few steps ahead of Cullen, and they’d found they had many common interests. But Bevan had been his friend since his first week at the monastery, when they were 13. They had trained together, gone to Denerim together; had been promoted to Kinloch tower together. His friend’s plain face had been tense that day, as soon as Cullen had said something felt wrong. Bevan had always been sensitive to Cullen’s moods. Such is love, Bevan had always said._

_Time passed oddly in the dream. Cullen remembered that the Templars remaining on the 4th floor mustered in the barracks and split into two platoons._

_Farris had been the Knight-Captain on duty that day. His voice had sounded unusually clipped. “We have reason to believe something is wrong in the tower. We will be doing a vertical sweep of Kinloch; I will be taking the majority of you upstairs to secure Irving and the Harrowing Chamber while Ser Cullen will be the lead on the sweep of the lower floors. We will be using the room to room, floor by floor pattern we drill each week, so you are more than familiar with it.”_

_Farris unsheathed his sword before giving his final orders. “I say again, this is not a drill, but I do not want you to kill on sight. Demand they stand and disarm.Any that do not stand down immediately may be dealt with at your discretion, even unto death. Good hunting, Templars.”_

_Cullen remembered moving his platoon out, moving round the ring of tower rooms and down the stairs. They practiced stealth, even in their full heavy armor. Clanking was for routine inspections, to avoid unpleasant scenes. But even with their stealth, they found no one out of place. Indeed, they found no one except the youngest apprentices and children. They moved the children with them, herding them down to the lowest level._

_Cullen remembered stopping to regroup once they reached the inner vestibule on the ground floor. The smaller children were unaware of the tension, but the older children could tell something was amiss. They eyed him warily._

_A commotion from the stairs sent the Templars scrambling and the children screaming. Cullen ordered several Templars to the doorway. Two more he set behind them, while he and Bevan stood before the children. He took a knee in front of them and looked to the oldest apprentice. “You must keep them calm, you have their charge. I will do my best to protect you, but you must not interfere. Do you understand?”_

_The apprentice nodded. “I’m glad it’s you and Bevan here with us. Most of the others,” the girl left off._

_Cullen nodded then looked to all the children, “Stay here. We will protect you.”_

_The door from the stairs banged open. More shouting was heard; a woman’s voice called to them, “We come in peace, with news from the First Enchanter.”_

_Cullen shouted, “Walk down slowly!” To the Templars he said quietly, “hold your attack, but disarm on sight. Think of the children.”_

_An older woman appeared at the door first, followed by two newly Harrowed mages. The Templars in the front rushed the mages, backing them to the walls and confiscating their staves. None of the mages resisted. “Explain yourself, mage,” Cullen spat._

_Enchanter Wynne, the mage who had shouted down the stairs, drew herself up to her full height and eyed him evenly. She left her hands at her sides, but her expression and her neat white bun made Cullen feel small._

_He knew better than to be rude to one of the Tower’s most respectedmages. Cullen had regretted his tone, but the buzzing feeling in his skull had been getting worse. “Enchanter,” he managed more politely, “please tell me the First Enchanter’s message.”_

_Wynne’s expression softened. “He says that no one in the tower is safe. He is begging you to join the other forces upstairs. Uldred has fallen, has taken the Harrowing chamber. Other mages have joined him. These two were sent with me as they are barely old enough to protect themselves, let alone help with the counter attack.”_

_One of the near Templars menaced Wynne with his drawn sword. “How d’we know she’s tellin’ the truth? Could be a trap.”_

_Cullen wiped his sweaty brow and stepped away from the group of children, closer to the mages and the other Templars. He whispered firmly, “The top of the tower – it doesn’t feel right, and it's getting bigger. It’s what I felt in the ward room – Uldred’s fall. She’s telling the truth.”_

_“You know Rutherford’s always right,” Bevan said. The other Templars relaxed a bit, even if they were still wary._

_Cullen remembered his indecision. The children had to be protected, but his platoon was needed upstairs._

_Finally he said, “Enchanter Wynne, might I ask a favor?”_

_She fixed him with her chilly blue eyes, taking in his attempt at politeness, his general agitation. “What is it you need, Ser Cullen?”_

_“We must head back up the tower, but the children should stay here. They need protection. Would you and the other young mages remain here, with them, until Knight-Commander Greagoir returns? He must be told the truth of what is occurring.”_

_“I will guard the children with my life, young man.”_

_Cullen rubbed the back of his head. “Thank you, Enchanter Wynne.”_

_“Templars, wait!” she said. “Uldred is a deadly threat to the Tower and everyone in it. Regard him, and any who ally with him as such.” She nodded. “I’m going to call my magic, so don’t panic. It’s a Spirit balm, meant to clear your head before battle.”_

_Cullen felt her aura wash over him and the other Templars. He felt less anxious, but no less aware._

_“Andraste watch over you,” she said before she turned to the children, and clapped her hands, calling them into the outer vestibule for a story. He watched as the two young mages set wards before the door to the vestibule._

_Cullen had been grateful for Wynne’s assistance. He hadn’t like the idea of leaving the children unguarded._

_“Form up, form up. We make for the upper floors again. Mind your shields and some of the Lesser Litanies might also help. The Litany of Adralla will protect you from the control of blood mages. These will be your best protections. Do not kill on sight, but do not hesitate to strike any who attack outright, nor any who fail to yield.”_

_Cullen walked to the open door of the stairs. He raised his sword. “Forward for Andraste!”_

_~~~~~~~~~~_

Cullen sat up straight out of the dream. “Bevan!” he screamed, then pulled a startled Trevelyan into his lap. 

“Why, Bevan? Why? WHY? That blast was meant for me,” he rocked her, crying, his eyes open but unseeing. “That blast was meant for me.”

 


	30. Waking Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Cullen wake from his dream?

***

Trevelyan lay tense and unmoving in Cullen’s arms, realizing he was not talking to her, was not seeing her. He continued to rock her and cry, but only for a few moments more. Then he laid her down on the couch gently, tucking her hands together, as one did for a corpse.He tumbled from the couch, lurched around the room, upsetting the coffee table along with the glasses and basket from the morning’s snack.Finally he wedged himself against the wall and her clothes cupboard, bent a knee and started to pray.

Trevelyan took the moment to go to the door and open it to the shouting Templar who’d been rattling the door since the table had crashed over.

“Gervais!” she barked as she opened the door. He stopped his motion and straightened to attention.

“Thank the Maker, Inquisitor. I thought you were under attack.” He seemed both spookedand relieved.

“Promise me you won’t say a word about what you see or hear in here?” she said.

“I promise, Inquisitor,” he said trying to get into the room.

She put her left hand on the breastplate of his heavy armor and fixed him with a glare few in Thedas had ever had the misfortune of seeing. Gervais stopped dead, dropped his head in respect.

“My apologies, my Lady. I swear to the Maker, Andraste, and Her Herald, whatever I see or hear goes with me to my grave.”

She backed off from the door and let him in before closing it and locking it again. Gervais had taken a knee not far from the commander. He waved his gauntleted hand in front of Cullen’s face. Cullen didn’t even register the movement as he continued to mutter. Gervais took off his gauntlets and brushed the commander’s shoulder. Cullen didn’t even flinch, he just kept whispering to himself and rocking. 

“Do you know what is happening Gervais?” Trevelyan asked, her voice high with tension.

The Templar looked at her, a haunted shadow on his face. “I do, Inquisitor. Sadly, I absolutely do. He’s having a waking dream. We used to see it all the time in the barracks.”

“What do we do? How can I help him?”

Gervais stood. “First we have to get him back to bed,” he looked about the room. “Was he sleeping here?”

“We were on the couch.”

“We should put him in a real bed. Yours? Or his?” 

Trevelyan bit her lip. “Will we need a healer?”

Gervais nodded. “Not right away, but eventually.”

“His bed then,” she said. “Give me a moment, I’ll turn down the covers, close the curtains.” She disappeared through the _porte d’amoureaux_. When she returned she said, “All set.”

“Did he say anything, when he woke?”

“Yes. He called me Bevan.Said the blast was meant for him.”

Gervais nodded. “Don’t speak and don’t interfere.”

He took the Commander’s hand, “Cullen, come with me. We have to move, they’re coming back! That’s an order!”

Cullen looked up, gaze still unseeing, but he started to stand. “Bevan?”

“Yes, Cullen. It’s me. Come on now, we have to move, it isn’t safe.”

He walked the commander across the room to the passage. Trevelyan followed them.

When they got to the side of the bed in Cullen’s room, Gervais stopped. He whispered to Trevelyan,“Help me.” The two worked together to pull off Cullen’s boots.

“Bevan, aren’t you dead?” Cullen asked as Gervais pulled his pants off, leaving Cullen in his shirt and small clothes as they settled him in the bed.

“No, that’s next week. Today I am just fine.”

“Thank the Maker,” Cullen said as they covered him. “Farris and Annlise, too?”

Gervais said, “Yes, yes. We’re all fine. Now go to sleep. I’ll stay as long as I can.”

Cullen nodded and rolled over. “I loved you, you know. Not like how you wanted me to, but I did love you.”

“I know, Cullen,” Gervais said. “I loved you, too.”

When Cullen was still, Gervais pulled Trevelyan away from the bed. “Forgive me, but what were you doing just before he fell asleep?”

Trevelyan blushed. “We were curled up on the couch under a blanket and I was singing to him. A lullaby.”

“Go get the blanket and wait for me here. I’m going to get a healer.” Gervais walked toward Cullen’s door.

“Get Fiona! She’s in the mage’s tents, near the statue of Andraste.”

“Yes, Ser,” Gervais said. “Just don’t touch him yet. He’s still stuck in his dream. Your turn will come when I get back.”

Trevelyan retrieved the blanket and stood at the side of the bed watching Cullen sleep. He seemed to be calm but shivering. She twisted the blanket in her hands to keep herself from touching him. After what seemed like an eternity Gervais returned with a fresh looking Fiona. 

She took one look at Cullen in the bed and said, “I see this is no real case of _mauvais estomac.”_ With a light touch she took his pulse, then hovered a hand over him, studying his aura. Finally she leaned close and inhaled deeply. “ _C'est des conneries_ ,” she muttered.

Fiona glared at Trevelyan and Gervais, “How long has the Commander been without lyrium? He doesn’t even smell right!”

“What?” Gervais said. “Flaming Andraste!”

Fiona rounded on Trevelyan. “Is this some kind of punishment? Has he displeased you in some way? Of all the tyrannical bronto shit, Inquisitor.”

“Fiona! I would never deprive any Templar of lyrium. By now you must know how we do things in the Inquisition. How the Commander insists on proper and fair procedures. This is Cullen’s own doing,” she hissed. “And I support him completely.Whatever it takes.”

Fiona’s face softened. “He is trying to free himself?”

Trevelyan nodded.

Fiona’s demeanor changed immediately. “He really is _Sanctifié_ , no? A marvel, Inquisitor. The waking dreams are common - especially with those in withdrawal. Though usually the result of a punishment or extended illness - I’ve never heard of anyone doing it on purpose.It’s amazing he’s not dead already.”

“Is he in that much danger?” Trevelyan asked.

Fiona passed her hands along Cullen’s prone form again. “No, thank the Maker.But we have to bring him back carefully. He’s between the dreaming Fade and reality. If it is done incorrectly, he could be lost in the Fade. But I have done this many times, Inquisitor, he will be just fine.”

She turned to Gervais. “You know what to bring, Gervais, plus a vial of mage’s lyrium. If you please.”

“Yes, Enchanter.” He left to get the items.

Fiona looked at Trevelyan. “We have to call him back to the moment he fell asleep and then wake him gently. I will wait at the edge of the Fade,to make sure he comes back to himself.”

“Can I touch him now?” Trevelyan asked.

“Were you touching when he fell asleep?”

“Yes. He was holding me, and I was singing,” Trevelyan said.

Fiona gestured to the bed. “Then get in the bed, curl up just as you were, and I will cover you with the blanket.”

The two women moved quietly and quickly. Soon Trevelyan and Cullen were snuggled much like they had been on the couch.

Gervais returned with Fiona’s requests. She filled a basin with water and readied the cloth. “He’ll have a fever, when we wake him. They always do.”

The mage directed the Templar to the foot of the bed. “We are ready, Inquisitor. Gervais will pray for all of us and monitor the Commander. I will go into the other room and take the small sleeping potion and enter the Fade to help guide him back. You have to sing to him, as you were when he fell asleep. You will quite literally be the voice in the darkness for him. When he wakes enough that we know he’s here with us, wake him completely. Tell him he was snoring, but nothing else. It rarely helps for them to know about the Waking Dream. Most likely he’ll feel unwell. Tell him he has a fever, then come wake me. I will step in as if nothing was amiss.”

Trevelyan followed all of Fiona’s directions, waiting until Gervais confirmed Fiona was asleep, then started to sing again, the same lullaby, in her same soft, sweet and low voice. She sang the simple song twice over before the commander rolled toward her, taking her in his arms, but he gave no hint that he was conscious. Gervais shook his head - it wasn’t time yet.

Trevelyan’s brow pinched together in concern for his lack of response. 

Gervais whispered, “Does he speak Elvish?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she answered.

Gervais thought for a moment, then he said, “Can you sing the one about dreaming, in Common?”

Trevelyan took a breath and began again.

 

_Sun sets, little one,_

_Time to dream,_

_Your mind journeys,_

_But I will hold you here._

_Where will you go, little one,_

_Lost to me in sleep?_

_Seek truth in a forgotten land_

_Deep within your heart._

_Never fear, little one,_

_Wherever you shall go,_

_Follow my voice –_

_I will call you home._

_I will call you home._

Cullen didn’t open his eyes, but he kissed her forehead whispering, “I could get used to this, Herald.”

Gervais smiled. Then Gervais backed away from the bed and slipped into the other room

“ _Heartthrob,_ ” Trevelyan said as she ran a hand over Cullen’s forehead. “Heartthrob, wake up.” She ran her thumb along his lips. 

 

Cullen’s eyes fluttered. He looked at Trevelyan and smiled. “Good morning,” he whispered. “You look beautiful.”

Trevelyan kissed his hot cheek. “You spoil me.”

Cullen tried to sit up, but then fell back into his bed. “I must have eaten less than I thought, I feel weak as a kitten.”

Trevelyan got out of the bed and tucked the blankets back around him. “You don’t look well. And you feel hot to the touch.”

He rubbed his forehead, “I am a little warm.”

She poured water from the ewer into a glass from his bedside table. “Drink this,” she said. Then she picked up the cloth and wiped his face, neck, and what she could reach of his chest without completely soaking his shirt. “Maybe I should fetch a healer?”

Cullen took a sip of water. “No, not right now. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Trevelyan placed the inside of her wrist on his forehead. When she pulled it away she said, “Commander, I’m getting Gervais to bring Fiona. You will stay put in this bed. That is an order, so no backtalk.”

Cullen looked like he was going to argue, but didn’t. “My head aches.”

“I’ll be right back.” She went to his door, opened it and pretended to call Gervais. He went along with the ruse while Fiona stayed silent. After he promised to fetch Fiona and some food, she shut the door.

“Can I help?” she queried when she returned to his bedside. 

Cullen lay back in the bed, eyes closed, but shook his head softly. “I know these symptoms, Herald, it’s just been a very long time.” He patted the bed next to him. She went to him. He opened his eyes when he felt her take his hand. “Did I hurt you at all? Or frighten you in anyway?"

“What? No, of course not,” she said. “I was never frightened of you, Cullen. Only frightened for you.”

“Good,” he whispered, hardly able to move. “That thought would, well, I would feel as if I wasn’t able to do my duty, if my mess frightened you. If I frightened you.”

When Fiona came in, she brought another healer and some more supplies, and they set about fussing over the Commander.

 

 


	31. The Morrigan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen recovers slowly. Trevelyan must know Morrigan's motives as she joins the Inquisition.

Despite the fact that the Empress, her cousin Gaspard, and her former lover Briala were now in an uneasy triumvirate for the betterment of Orlais, very few stratagems had been plotted by the Inquisitor and her advisors on the voyage over the Frostback Mountains after the peace talks at the Winter Palace.Josephine and Leliana were calling Cullen’s waking dream‘ _mauvais estomac’_ in their reports and ravens, as everyone knew how boring the Ferelden palate was considered in Orlais, and everyone knew the spies were flocking thick and heavy.

Fiona, Trevelyan, and Cassandra called it an ‘episode,’ but only behind very thick, very well-guarded doors. For most of the overland journey Cullen had been weak, feverish, with painful, slightly swollen joints. Trevelyan had had to order him to the carriage - quietly – half a day from Halamshiral.He’d nearly fallen from Eclipse when the horse had spooked at a snake in the grass. They spent a week at the Sahrnia camp, of which he slept most of the time, because he’d been too weak to sit up in the carriage.

It at least gave Trevelyan the chance to help Michel de Chevin finish his quest against the demon Ishmael. Michel was now able to be a full time agent of the Inquisition. He had stayed behind in Sahrnia to help with establishing the Inquisition in the keep, as well as to step up the pace of the destruction of the red lyrium. He would be joining them for a briefing soon enough.

Once they reached the camp outside Orzammar,they spent another day, also letting him sleep. The altitude was causing him trouble breathing. He was, as of yet, unaware of the lost time.

When he was awake, however, he’d been grouchy as a great bear, being fussed over. Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine, and Trevelyan took turns sitting with him while he seethed loudly though wordlessly inside the tent or in the great carriage. It was fortunate their return to Skyhold was in the small hours of the morning; nobody noticed the Commander limp up the stairs to his office, Cassandra and Trevelyan on either side. Trevelyan brought a metal campaign bed up from one of the courtyard tents herself as she didn’t want him climbing any ladders for the next few days. Ilia, the Chasind mage and herbalist, was called in immediately, over the Commander’s objections.After a long consultation with Cullen and Fiona, the mage asked the Commander for time to peruse his tomes and those of the Skyhold library. Trevelyan also offered Elswyth, her personal librarian, to help with the research. Three days, perhaps a week of the Commander’s time, Ilia asked, to try a few blends for a remedy for the Commander’s symptoms. The Commander would have to be watched while trying the experimental blends, so staying in his office, at his desk, while one of the others sat with him to watch for side effects, would be logical. Given that it would be logical, Cullen gave his begrudging agreement.

The third day, as he sat at his desk under a blanket, being waited on like an aged invalid by the most powerful women in Thedas, he tried to pinpoint where exactly the old man and the Ladies of Skyhold had out played him.

Grudgingly, he had to admit the tincture based tea Ilia had given him the morning before had made a difference. His joints were no longer swollen and he was able to move more normally, even if the joints were still hot to the touch and painful. Also, he was able to spend most of the day awake for the first time in a week.

Each of the next two days saw the tea help him set himself to rights.

So it was that five days after their return to Skyhold, the Inquisitor and all of her advisors once again stood at the War Table, the Commander with only a hint of stiffness in his stance and a trace of irritation at his limitations – no ladders, few stairs, limited sword play. Most of the morning flew, as the advisors discussed the after-action reports from the pit at Sahrnia and especially the events of Halamshiral, worked through the implications of the evening’s events. The most divisive issue appeared to be the fate of the Grand Duchess Florianne. After her long, humiliating tour of several major Orlesian cities in movable stocks, she was to be deposited in the Skyhold dungeons, to be held accountable at a trial by Inquisitor. 

Trevelyan drifted off while Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen argued over the many choices for the Grand Duchesses’ fate. Research had just returned from the Hissing Wastes, the Hidden Oasis specifically. Elswyth had come across a book in the library here that mentioned a place like that. They would have to discuss it further, now that Cullen had begun to show improvement. Finally she broke into her advisors lively debate, “Enough. Clearly, we have reached no consensus on this issue, as of yet. As Florianne will not arrive for a few days, we still have some time to run the implications out logically.” She paused to let the advisors collect their thoughts. “Is there anything else we should deal with before I go to find the Lady Morrigan now that she has finally arrived?”

Josephine cleared her throat softly. “I would have waited, but we have had a few requests for the Commander’s lineage from interested parties at the Winter Palace,” Josephine began casually, fanning a stack of letters with broken noble seals.

“Andraste preserve me! Feel free to use those requests as kindling!” Cullen snapped.

Leliana smiled, “No! I will take them. I want to know who pines for our commander. We can use this to our advantage.”She reached over and took them from Josie.

Cullen blustered, “I am not bait!”

Leliana looked down at the crests and waved her hand dismissively in Cullen’s direction, “Hush! Just look pretty!”

Cullen thumped his hands onto the War Table, disturbing the nearby pieces.

Trevelyan touched Cullen on the arm. “It never hurts to be forthcoming with distractions, Commander. I know you dislike the Game, but we are all pieces at one time or another. Please, I wouldn’t ask you to go along with this if it wasn’t important. Besides, you said it yourself that night at the Winter Palace. You are taken.”

Cullen placed his hand over Trevelyan’s, and looked down at her for a moment before he said, “Perhaps you are correct. A little light on my rustic beginnings might well send the Orlesians scurrying away.”He patted her hand and sighed. “Very well. Josie, I will write down what I know about my families and you can have the researchers deal with it. I hope they will be disappointed enough to leave me alone.”

Trevelyan beamed at him.“Thank you, Cullen. I know how much you dislike the spotlight.”

Cullen lowered his gaze and gave her a small bow. “I dance only for you,” he said under his breath as they began to straighten the strategy pieces.

While Cullen and Trevelyan talked, Leliana and Josephine had been exchanging glances. Leliana held up one of the letters with the crest facing Josephine, who nodded back. It was beautifully embossed flowers, on special gilt blue wax. The seal of the Lady Fleur, first Lady-In-Waiting to the Empress Celene. Josephine looked at it and smiled. Two more held easily recognizable family crests. Then Leliana held up another, this with a bear gorged with a crown, also on blue wax.

Josephine shook her head and shrugged.

Leliana arched an eyebrow at Josephine before she said, “As a final note, Morrigan will be a valuable ally, so long as her interests align with yours. Still, she is loyal in her way, and has knowledge that will be invaluable to the Inquisition. Her mother, Flemeth, was a most powerful witch. That being said, your Worship, she can be touchy, so I would not delay in welcoming her to Skyhold. She has a room in the guest quarters, so you can begin there, when you choose.”

“Very well. Please, get some lunch. It has been a long morning. Good Day,” said the Inquisitor, dismissing the meeting. “Cullen, I won’t be in to see you about the status report until at least 4:00, so do try to get some rest before then.”

“Yes, Inquisitor,” was all he said before stalking out of the War Council room.

The Inquisitor left the War Table chambers and went in search of the Lady Morrigan. As she walked across the courtyard, a young boy approached her. “You’re the Inquisitor.”

Trevelyan stopped and looked at the boy. He was a well-made lad, with dark, almost black hair, but as the sun glinted on it, the black showed auburn highlights. His wide blue eyes were ringed with darker blue, and had a seriousness unusual for a boy his age.

“I thought you’d be scarier. Mother said you were scary.” He had an adorable gravel to his voice.

Trevelyan found herself amused, as she often was by the children in Ostwick. “Some people think I’m the scariest thing in the world,” she said in a mock-serious tone.

The boy blinked and whispered conspiratorially, “Mother says they would say the same thing about me, if they knew.”

“And just who is your mother?” This grave little boy intrigued Trevelyan.

“She is the Inheritor, she who waits for the next Age,” the boy said matter-of-factly.

“Kieran,” came a cool, mellow tone, “are you bothering the Inquisitor?”

“Of course not, Mother. Did you see what’s on her hand?” His eyes became big as Andrastian silvers.

The Lady Morrigan approached, as beautiful as at the palace, if much less formally dressed. From a fashionable courtier to sexy witch, it was quite the transformation. “Yes, I did. Fascinating, no?”

The boy’s blue eyes sparkled, and he nodded.

“I think it is time to return to your studies, little man,” Morrigan admonished lightly.

The boy sighed. “Yes, Mother,” he whispered. Then he gave the Inquisitor a short bow and a quiet, “Good day, Inquisitor,” before running off towards the guest quarters.

Morrigan smiled with a mother’s pride. “That’s my son, never where you expect him to be. Still he is a quiet child. He will be no trouble for you or the castle, Inquisitor.”

“At home in Ostwick, we have a surplus of children at the Castle. They do seem to be everywhere and nowhere at once. I’m only sad for him there aren’t other children his age here at Skyhold, mostly babies for now. Though I know there are several in the valley camp, and more have been moved with their families to the Hinterlands, should he get lonely.” Trevelyan gazed in the direction of the guest quarters. “I miss their noise, the chaos they bring. Our children make all this necessary. We do not defend a way of life so much as a way to the future. But - I forget myself. I didn’t even know you had a son, Lady Morrigan.”

“Why would you? It was not a relevant topic during our conversation at Halamshiral, and I try to keep Kieran as far away from courtly politics, and the court’s opinions of me, as I possibly can. It is my wish that he simply be thought of as a reserved, yet polite boy, perhaps the heir of some distant noble family.”

The Inquisitor saw Morrigan’s elegant eyebrow twitch in what looked like amusement, as if that thought pleased her. Perhaps Kieran _was_ the heir of some far-flung noble. Curious, she asked, “Will his father be joining us here as well?”

Morrigan’s expression was impassive. “No. I have raised Kieran on my own, as originally intended. His father consented to my request to be independent in Kieran’s upbringing.”

“If I may ask, what does Kieran know about his father?”

Morrigan observed Trevelyan’s face for a moment, as if weighing intentions and responses. Then she spoke, “Kieran knows his father is a good man. I thought his father deserved that much. Beyond that, Kieran does not yet ask.” Morrigan brushed her hair from her amber eyes. “But surely you have other, more important interests than my giving succor to a friend in need, Lady Inquisitor.”

Trevelyan blinked. “Forgive me, Morrigan. I did not mean to give offense. It is a custom of Ostwick, to ask about a new acquaintance’s family.” Trevelyan deepened her tone to the rich burr of her homeland, saying, “‘Get to the root, so you will know the growth, either barren or fertile.’”Then she smiled. “It’s silly really, but I find comfort in my little folktales these days.”

“There is nothing silly in traditions, Inquisitor,” Morrigan said with a matching smile. “It is only sad when we know the tradition and not the truth, as we see now with Corypheus and the Elvhen orb.”

“You believe the orb to be of the Elvhen?”

“Yes, Inquisitor. Corypheus most likely thinks it is Tevinter in origin, but I believe the Orb pre-dates the fall of Arlathan. I have consulted my own sources, have some ideas on how to pursue leads,” said Morrigan.

Trevelyan gestured to the castle. “The resources of Skyhold are at your disposal. See the Lady Elswyth for special requests or to use my personal library. My staff is also available. As, of course, is my companion Solas. He was our first source of information about the Orb, the first to suggest I use the Mark to close rifts, to seal the Breach.”

Morrigan arched an eyebrow at the Inquisitor. “I met your Solas at Halamshiral. It is, perhaps, better if you keep us working at parallel. Then the same information would get two sets of learned eyes. Besides, he does not seem the kind to share information without his own agenda.”

“Hmm,” Trevelyan gestured further into the garden, to the seats in the stone pavilion. “Solas told me the Orb was of his people not long after the fall of Haven. While we were still lost in the mountains, in fact.”She sat.

Morrigan joined her. “Why did you not share this information?”

“It seemed pointless to escalate the tension. The Empire was already at war, relations between elves and humans in Orlais were already strained. We had the information, could act on it with our growing resources. I would not give those who hate any further excuse for violence.” Trevelyan sighed, “We have enough of that already.”

“Morrigan, you have a point about Solas, but I will say that though he does seem to share information at his own time, he will share it. The formation of the Inquisition has required the blending of many agendas, balancing many needs. My advisors and I do our best. But I am sure we fall short in places.”

A flicker of surprise twitched at the corner of Morrigan’s mouth. “This is not an admission you make lightly.”

“No. I am hoping that you will meet truth with truth, Morrigan. I am here to do as much good as I can, for as many people as I can, for as long as I can. I am here to put Thedas to rights, to perhaps build something better and stronger from the chaos. Love, Morrigan, keeping love in this world is why I am here. If you can tell me your own intentions do not interfere with mine, we shall be friends. If not, you may as well go back to Halamshiral.”

Morrigan looked to the balcony overlooking the garth. Kieran was leaned over it, book in hand but ignored. He was feeding a raven some bread. “Twas not so long ago, had you said as much to me I would have laughed in disgust and dismissed you as a fool, Inquisitor.But wisdom has found me. I do not think beautiful things, ancient things, should be lost. The old magicks must be guarded, understood, so that old mistakes do not revisit us in new ages. I would be as a bulwark against forgetting.I too, in my way, seek to protect the future. If this be enough for you, ‘tis is my troth.”

Both women watched the boy as he tried to be good, tried to read his book, but the raven now wouldn’t let him. “Children make fools of us all, but it is a delicious folly. Full of pain and hope,” Trevelyan said as she watched at the boy and his bird.

Morrigan smiled. “And love, Inquisitor. Never forget love.”


	32. Trial By Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhan visits Cullen and helps avert a crisis. Or does she?

***

Cullen stood watching Blackwall and Bull running the Skyhold garrison’s officers through a field exercise. Normally he would also be among the trainers, but he was still on restricted duties, and had only just made it down the mountain on Eclipse. The ride had exhausted him, not that he would ever let on.

Illia had ridden down with him, but was now in the camp to trade with some fellow Chasind. He had repeated the Inquisitor’s orders to take it easy. She had given them before she rode to Redcliffe for a meeting with Arl Teagan, though she and Illia had agreed he could get back to full swordplay within a day, two at the most. It kept the Commander in a better mood than he’d been in since waking in Trevelyan’s arms at the Winter Palace. Finally back to normal, he thought, as he caught the clash of wooden weapons in the distance. Battle was Cullen’s normal; more than usual, that saddened him.

He sat at the table and studied the maneuvers the groups would be practicing. Today was for the officers, practicing standard troop movements across a battlefield. Tomorrow they would use makeshift wooden ramparts to practice breaching and close quarters melee for the soldiers. Most of them would be marching for the Hissing Wastes to deal with the Grey Warden problems soon; they had to be ready. He looked out at the men again, watching them practice the battle cries and horn calls that would move the Inquisition regulars over a battlefield.

His attention wandered, as it had too much these weeks as he healed. The Herald had said he hadn’t frightened her during his waking dream, but he was sure she was keeping the truth from him. How could she not have been frightened to see the commander of her armies completely out of control and hallucinating? He sighed.

Cullen became aware of a mage approaching from the healer’s tents. The first thing he noticed was her staff. The shaft was made of red steel, but the headpiece was made of animal rib bones shaped into three overlapping crescents, like the inside of a trefoil knot; an amethyst as big as a fist was set at the joint. The work was Dalish, but the metal was almost too well done. Cullen thought it looked castle forged. The staff, it’s shape, it tickled the edges if his memory - a spirit mage? An elven mage he could see now, from her linen smock, leather pants, and bare feet. Blond hair, lightly tan skin, slightly fuller figure than most elves. She looked a little like Sera, but was plainly older - older than Cullen himself. She smiled as she came closer, clearly recognizing him.

“Good morning, Commander,” she said softly, leaning her staff on her shoulder. Up close, she was even more familiar, especially her eyes; wise blue eyes that held just a touch of pain.

“Rhan,” he said, standing to greet her, “you seem well. I almost didn’t recognize you.” 

She pushed her hair off her face. “I am on my way,” she said, “as you see.” She adjusted her staff, looking him in the eye. “I lost much, coming here. In different hands I might have lost my faith the the peoples of this world. I might have lost everything. Thanks to you, I am shaken, but not broken. The Inquisition is just, and I would still be part if it.”

Cullen gave her a slight bow. “I have no words for you except my sympathy. I try to make things as they should be, as I believe the Maker would have it. Would you like to sit?” he offered. She stuck her staff into the ground and came forward to join him.

She put her arms out on the table. “May I, Commander?”

Cullen took his gauntlets and gloves off and then placed his hands in hers. He wasn’t entirely in the mood to be read, but she was not to blame and had suffered enough. He would give her no more reason to dislike human men.

“The spirits are distressed, Commander. They worry for you. They say you have been unwell and unfocused,” she said when she let go. “They say it makes you unhappy, to be so adrift.”

“I have been unwell, Rhan. I am not at my best right now, but like you I am on my way,” Cullen answered. “How have you been? All I knew was that Elswyth had helped you leave the castle after a few days of rest, and then I had reports that you were working with the elves in the Dales.”

“Yes, I couldn’t be around so many humans, I found. My body was healed, but not my spirit. I needed to be away from everyone, at first. Elswyth and Terrwyn took me to the ruins in the Dales, to the ancient burial grounds so I could bury my kin. They rest among the People in Orlais, for now. When it is time to return to Ferelden, I will take them with me so that when I  go to my eternal sleep we may rest our bones together in the land of our people.”

“I am glad of your recovery. Of your people’s rest,” he said. “When you decide to return, the Inquisition will see to your travels: horses, halla, whatever you might need, of course.”

Rhan waved her hand. “It is nowhere near time, Commander. I am here as long as I can be of some use. It is why I am speaking with you. The spirits tell me I must retrieve young Tor, and that he must come with me. We are needed.”

“What do you need with a templar?” Cullen asked, checking that the purpose was just. Tor had already served his punishment.

“I will need protection, for I am to go to the Emerald Graves and help gather the Fractured- or so the spirits call them. They are templars that roam the forests without lyrium, lost to themselves and this world. I must find them and heal them,” she said. “The healing is not only for them, but me, and for Tor. I have been shown. Tor has not yet forgiven himself. He is in danger, even at Skyhold, whose ancient seals keep out all but the most venerable spirits. He must be the one to go with me. Can you make this happen?” Rhan asked.

Rhan’s words were true, her purpose righteous, Cullen knew.Like her, Tor was physically fine, but his mental state was not. Brycen had said the young man was taking too many risks, leaving himself open, almost on purpose.They had seen it before - a death wish. “I can make this happen, but are you sure you will be safe with him? The young man is a trained templar, a skilled warrior; you will have no natural advantages with him, should he not be an honorable man. I would not have you - have anyone - so vulnerable in the wild.”

“He is worthy of trust, Commander, I know this to be true. We must find the templars, heal them. I must overcome my fear of human men and templars. I must - regain my joy in the male form, at least in theory, if not in practice.I would very much like to take part in the Venery, when the season is correct. Spirit magic is a kind of creation magic; I cannot serve at clan rites as I am now, I cannot be the vessel if I fear the blade.” She looked out over the movement of the troops in the field.

“Very well.Let’s send for the boy at once, since I am here in the camp. It would make me feel better to see Tor and judge his feelings. I never want to give orders I know will be disobeyed - not if I can help it.”

  
***

 

It didn’t take long for an aide to find Tor, as he was on duty with Lysette. They came from the mage’s checkpoint, along with their mage counterparts. Yet another of Cullen and Fiona’s reforms, mages and templars together greeted all new mages. It was important to him that a new mage face some sort of test of intentions from the templars, but also feel the welcome of their fellow mages. When they were on duty in the camp, the foursomes were to stick together as a show of unity.

Fiona had agreed that the Inquisition keep a record of every mage that pledged themselves to the cause. Some of the hedge mages were suspicious, but as it was required for full Inquisition privileges, almost all answered the questions faithfully and submitted to the small test of will. Notes were taken and the mages were sorted and organized by talent and skill level and added to the official books later. The Inquisitor had said it was him at his best - making a plan for how to safely distribute mage powers among the camps and keeps. He had been unsure how to take her teasing; she seemed pleased with his work, pleased with him,  but she had to have doubt.

Tor and Lysette were working with two mages, male and female, but ones Cullen only recognized by sight, meaning they had just joined them since they returned from the Winter Palace.Lysette introduced them to Cullen.

“Commander,” she said, “I’d like to present Siddy and Loucar, they come to us from the Circle in Lescaux, in the south of Orlais. We have been paired just these two weeks.”

Cullen made an Orlesian bow. “Please everyone, be welcome. This is Rhan Ghi’Felas of Clan Daurnathaan in Ferelden. She will be helping the Inquisition with some spirit healing.”

“Greetings, fellow mages. It will be a pleasure to work with you,” she said, offering her hands to the newcomers.

Tor could hardly look at Rhan, but held out his hand to her. They touched briefly in greeting, and then he sat back, watching her with an interested if wary gaze.

Lysette greeted her warmly, “Rhan, you are back! A welcome sight to see you looking well!” she held out her hand in Ferelden fashion, and they clasped arms.

Both mages simply nodded at Rhan. “ _Pardon_ , but we do not touch mages such as this - the Dalish have wild magic that should not be tried,” Siddy said in a wispy Orlesian accent as she dismissed the other mage with her eyes. Loucar also sniffed at Rhan, and brushed the wrinkles out of his robes, but didn’t say anything.

Cullen knew the type. Probably of noble birth, beautiful, educated and cultured before they showed magic, who would be trained in a small Orlesian Circle by others of their kind and understanding templars.Connections inside and outside the Chantry empowered them. Like Madam de Fer, they would use the Game to gain a little power within a Circle, but unlike her they would only use it to make their lives better and others miserable, either through their beauty or influence. How had they gotten through to this level, he wondered? Josephine and Vivienne should know better, as should Fiona. Favors were one thing, but these two weren’t even that good at the Game, if this is how they declare themselves as guests in front of the Commander. They would have to be reassigned; they wouldn’t do.

He cleared his throat and frowned at them. “All are welcome in the Inquisition, and all will be treated with civility. But as you are new to us, perhaps you have yet to learn this. It is an expectation. Grand Enchanter Fiona, Madam Vivienne, and the Ambassador will be made aware of this breach of etiquette.I will overlook it today, but this tolerance will be learned and practiced.”

“ _Désolé_ , Commander, we shall hope to learn the ways of the Inquisition,” Loucar simpered, poking Siddy.

“ _Désolé,”_ she muttered.

Rhan waved a hand, “It is alright, Commander. Spirit mages often make others uncomfortable. Perhaps when they know me better, they will allow a reading.”

Siddy smiled, “Yes, quite. We are just shy of others, at present.”Loucar nodded.

“You called us here, Commander?” Tor asked, still looking uncomfortable. “We should get back to our duties as quickly as we can.”

Siddy smiled at him. “Ah, _mon ami_ , we have all day to go about our duties. But perhaps getting to the point ‘ere is for the best.”

Lysette nodded, as did Loucar. Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. Something seemed odd about these four.

Rhan began. “The spirits have told me of several templars that are lost in the Emerald Graves, cut off from lyrium and delirious. I would like Tor to go with me to retrieve them. The Commander has given his consent, but would like to discuss this with Tor, or any others who may choose to join us in the wilderness.”

Tor leaned forward, finally showing interest. “You want to take me?”

“Yes,” Rhan said. They made eye contact across the table.

“Very well,” Tor whispered. “I must go then.”

Siddy snorted. “Just like that? You would trust yourself in the wild with a spirit mage of all things? Spirit mages attract all sorts of unwanted attention,” she said. “Wouldn’t it be better for you to stay ‘ere, at camp?”

Tor turned to look at Siddy. His look grew hungry, heated, before he glanced away from her and Rhan both and took a deep breath. “More fun perhaps, but my duty lies with Rhan. I - I owe her a debt. I owe her my life. I owe her several lives.”

“Lysette,” Loucar said, “surely you see the folly in this trip. These templars are already lost. Why send your friends on this fool’s errand?” he smiled at her, his blond curls falling just so as he looked upon her.

Lysette blinked. “It is rather dangerous. But we must go after them, as we would hope they would come for us.”

“These are all good arguments, we should take time to consider,” Cullen said as he stood. He retrieved the food basket Illia had left with him and brought it and a bottle of ale to the table. He pulled out an apple and sat back down. “Please, help yourselves. We will continue this discussion when we are more ready.” He pulled his dagger from his boot and began to peel the apple.

As the others chose food and poured drinks, Cullen closed his eyes and centered himself. He breathed slowly, and soon an all too familiar buzz traveled to the base of his skull. Before long the blade of the dagger began to glow white; Rhan’s staff completed the trefoil with purple light.

Loucar was dead before anyone else could react, Cullen’s glowing white dagger sticking out of his eye. Rhan’s purple blast hit Siddy in the chest, knocking her over the back of the chair.

Tor and Lysette jumped to their feet, unsheathing swords and knocking over chairs and tables as Siddy rolled to her side and screamed in rage seeing Loucar dead on the ground.

Siddy crawled to Loucar, pulling him into her arms. “What have you done? How can this be? Lou Carcohl has fed upon the creatures of this plane since the Veil fell, ages upon ages. How does this templar husk bring him low?”

Rhan took up her staff, the bones and the purple glow of the amethyst merging to the trefoil. “He is no hollow husk, demon. Show yourself!” she hissed, pounding the staff on the ground and casting another spell in a flash of purple light.

The body Siddy held in her arms split and his real formed tumbled out for a moment, a giant snail-snake with huge, long sucker stalks and teeth sharp as daggers before it burst into dust and fell away.

Rhan let loose another gout of purple fire, bellowing,"SHOW YOURSELF, DEMON!"

Siddy rose to her feet, shrieking, “I am Uxidia, the sucking kiss of Sloth! You, Commander, are forbidden me, but I have had a taste of this man Tor. I will have his blood over my teeth!”She too let loose her guise, and in a flash was at Tor’s side as an ashen-skinned, bare-breasted female form with sucking tendrils instead of desire demon horns. Her long fingered hand had Tor by the hair, but before Uxidia could move further Rhan caught her in another spell, crushing her and pulling mana and spirit away from the demon.

The Templars struck at once, sensing the demon’s weakness.Lysette’s sword stroke, aglow with the Blessings of the Maker, sliced through the demon. Uxidia’s screamed, but did not fall. A column of pure white light blazed through her, turning the scream into a wail as she too fell to ashes and blew away on the wind.

In all of this, the troops on the field of battle stopped their mock fight and came running, almost the entire army of Skyhold. Fortunately Blackwall called the all clear on the Great Horn and they stopped before they reached camp. What a mess that would have been, had they run through camp looking for an enemy. It would have destroyed equipment, started fights. Chaos for everyone, as Dorian liked to say.

Tor sheathed his still glowing sword, then took a knee in front of Rhan. “I will tell you what penance the Inquisitor assigned me, now that you can finally bare the sight of me. I am to serve you, _Hahren_ , in all things, until you release me from my penance or death take me. Thank you again, Rhan Ghi’felas, for my life at the trial, and for my life today. If you say we go into the Emerald Graves, then so it shall be.”

She looked away, watching the soldiers go back out to the field, listening to the bugle calls and the bellowing of the officers. “We have your permission then, Commander?”

“See the quartermaster for whatever you need, this excursion has the full sanction of the Inquisition. I will see Josephine about getting you letters of travel for Orlais and the Inquisition camps and keeps,” Cullen said. “You are hereby transferred to Rhan’s charge, and answer to her and then to the Inquisitor. If I do not see you before you depart, good hunting, Ser Tor.”

Rhan and her unusual staff led the way, the giant templar in full plate following her like a lumbering bear cub.

“Commander,” Lysette said. “We must figure out how this came to be, it’s a serious breach of security.”

“A perfect storm of fuck ups; had Rhan not come back for Tor, Skyhold and its camps would have been compromised by a sloth demon. We shall find it and fix it - Cassandra and Vivienne should work nicely to begin with; Cassandra will know what to do. Though I’m sure this has more to do with my recent illness than anything or anyone else,” Cullen said. “So many of you were picking up my slack something was bound to get by us.”

“All due respect Ser, but you cannot be everywhere at once. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. We simply needed to be better. Lesson learned. Now we must plan.”

“Call the templars, Ser Lysette, we need to talk.”

***

Cullen spent hours debriefing the field officers with Blackwall and Bull, and hours before that with the Templars, running over what had happened and why. He was careful to place no blame, but to simply look at what was, and what needed to change. Oversights were made while he was sick. One missing person shouldn’t cock up the whole system like it had, but the new plans should help provide more overlapping duties. It was well after nightfall when things concluded, so Illia refused to let him make the ride up the mountain.

The two shared a hasty meal, though Illia made sure Cullen ate enough. Soon Cullen found himself alone in his command tent as Illia had the sick and injured to attend. He stripped off his armor and fell into the camp bed of furs, passing into an exhausted sleep.

***

_He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t see. Something was on his chest, a heavy, unyielding weight. He grabbed for it in the pitch black. It was a foot, a booted and armored foot, the impossible weight of the man holding him down, stopping his breath. Soon the inky blackness turned to grey and Cullen could see his attacker, a knight in full armor. A warrior in the full plate armor of a Knight-Divine, the personal guard of the Divine, complete with the heavy winged helm, a giant two-handed sword drawn and held above him, as if the weight wasn’t enough to terrify him. He was in the position of a mage at a Harrowing, held down by a Knight-Divine._

_There it was, his ambition, when he allowed himself one, and it was crushing him. Cullen struggled to see around him, to figure out a way to escape. He didn’t quite recognize where he was, but the large, marbled Chantry was truly magnificent. It could only be the Grand Chantry in Orlais, the seat of the Divine. He looked about for a weapon, as he tried to push the foot from his chest, but he was in mages robes and unarmed. He heard the heavy tread of other warriors in armor behind him and turned his head to look. Two more knights-divine stood over him, staring down at him. Finally, the foot on his chest pressed down hard, as the knight stepped over and off of him. Cullen coughed, filling his lungs with the cool fresh air he’d been denied. He rolled to his side and pushed up to his knees, sputtering. Two of the knights grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled him to his feet._

_He looked again, and this time the knights were unhelmed. His friends Bevan and Farris held him, Annlise stood before him, each of them pale and dead and wearing the armor of the Knights-Divine._

_“Look at him,” Annlise said, stepping closer, running her cold hands over his face and body. “Every bit the handsome knight templar, still. Enough to turn the head of any woman and some men, with his comeliness.” She ran a hand down to his waste, lingering over the belt. “Everywhere, a pleasure to behold; beautiful and full of life, still capable of giving life,” she whispered, slipping a hand in robe to cup his manhood. The chill of her flesh made him flinch away from her. Annlise dropped her hand and laughed at his discomfort._

_Farris sneered at him. “What did you expect? Always so perfect, so polished. Like he was born to armor and swordplay. Took me years longer to achieve his level of skill. Years my junior, my equal, soon to be my commanding officer.”_

_Bevan shook Cullen with his gauntleted hands. “But that was nothing to his brain, now was it? Did he ever lose a war game? Or at chess? Did he ever fail to win a battle or a heart?” Cullen looked away from Bevan, couldn’t look at Bevan’s dead eyes._

_They forced him to his knees. Annlise moved around behind him and grabbed him by the hair, turning his head, making him look up at her. “Still full of initiative, of a sort. Commander of the Inquisition, hmm? But he’s turned his back on the strength of the Templar Order. Turned his back on lyrium, on us. For her, he’s turned his back on all of us.” She forced him to look in front of him. “For the Herald of Andraste. For Eyre Anwyn,” she hissed._

_Cullen looked ahead of him; a limp Eyre lay across the holy throne of the Divine, dressed in a plain white shift. Was she dead? Injured? He strained against his friends, trying to get to her._

_“Why?” he screamed. “Why would you do this? I loved you, I loved you all. I did my best for each of you, always. If it was in my power to give, you had it. You all know this. Why keep me from her? I am breaking no vows, in my service to the Inquisition.”_

_“Perhaps,” Farris said. “You serve, it is true. But are you at your best?” Farris shook a vial of lyrium in front of Cullen’s face. “How can you serve her when you can’t protect her properly?”_

_“Demons - sloth demons - getting the best of the famous - the sanctified - Cullen Rutherford? I shudder to think what you have come to, without lyrium,” Bevan hissed in his ear. “Your talents dim with each passing day.”_

_“No! They remain! Today, the Holy Smite, the Holy Smite was mine. Uxidia didn’t stand a chance, just as it has always been,” Cullen shouted at his captors._

_Farris cackled. “Your famed Holy Smite? Don’t you mean Tor’s Holy Smite? It was the boy, it had to be, without lyrium.”_

_“It was mine! I don’t know how, but it was - Tor doesn’t have that kind of control, to make a pillar of light. It - it had to be mine. That is what was mine, that control,” Cullen said, less sure with each word._

_Eyre moved on the throne, thrashing, as if asleep and dreaming. “Cullen! Cullen, where are you? I need your help, I need your touch, your strength. Please! Where are you?”_

_“Let me go!” he pulled against them. They threw him down, but now he was so weak he could barely crawl._

_“You could stand and walk, if you had lyrium,” Annlise said.  "You could protect her, when you were on _ _lyrium."_

_Blood began to well up from Eyre’s chest and lap, as she moaned. She sat up screaming, falling off of the throne and to the floor, she opened her eyes, but the were unseeing. She fell back to the floor. “How? How could you let this happen?” she whispered._

_“Yes, Cullen,” his old friends said in unison. “How could you let this happen?” Farris poured the lyrium over Cullen’s face, choking him, drowning him._

 


	33. Stand Relieved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dream causes problems for Cullen and the Inquisitor.

~~~ _Raven Scroll, From Redcliffe_ ~~~

Dorian-

I have just had the best experience of my life, hands down. We killed a fucking high dragon - _ahtaashi katar_ \- it was glorious. The way the ground shook, the little gurgle it made before the fire came. I got aroused, like nothing I’ve ever felt before - except for you. The dragons are revered by the Qunari, the raw power. Sometimes we joke about dragon blood in our veins, in our horns. We can play dragon hunter when I get back. It will be well worth the strain, Kadan.

The _vashedan_ Arl of Redcliffe was sure relieved to be rid of the beast. Stopped complaining to the boss about everything, at any rate. At least for an evening. We feasted and we drank all night. Well, I feasted and drank all night, after I carried the Inquisitor to bed when she passed out. She was restless, and mumbling for Cullen. Do you think they’ve played sheath and _valo-kas_ yet? Anyway, I stayed until she was quiet, then I went back down and drank half of Redcliffe under the table.

By the time you get this, we will almost be at Skyhold. The Inquisitor will ride at first light if it kills her. She thirsts for the Commander.

As for you, be ready. I have a new phrase I’d like to teach you - _ebra-hissal eva-lok defransdim_. Relax, you’ll love it.

The Iron Bull

~~~~~~~~

 

Trevelyan burst into Cullen’s office, eager for his touch, for the comfort of his arms, the tickle of the great bear fur on his mantle. She needed him, counted on the soft strength of his lips to chase away the doubts that had plagued her dreams the night before.

“Inquisitor!” shrieked a startled Greta, Cullen’s second most senior aide-de-camp. She was among the regulars what Gervais was to the Templars, though with much better logistical skills. She had distinguished herself fighting at Haven, and in keeping the regulars together during their time wandering the mountains.She was one of the few in the castle that never seemed to allow Cullen’s barking or intensity to phase her. Not that he barked at her often - she seemed to anticipate his every need. 

Trevelyan stooped to help Greta pick up some of the overturned reports. She glanced at them to make sure they were in order. Trevelyan caught just the ending of a letter - _Eyre Anwyn? Not Inquisitor? Not Her Worship the Herald of Andraste? Your last letter was far too short -_ before she stopped herself looking, only realizing it was personal correspondence from his sister too late. “Oh, so sorry Greta! I didn’t mean to frighten you – I was just, I mean,” Trevelyan stuttered in her embarrassment.At least in his correspondence he used her name, and not her sername or her titles. At least in his thinking they were equals.

“It’s all right, Inquisitor,” sighed the harried lieutenant as she bent to pick up the rest of papers she’d sent floating about the room. “If you’re looking for the Commander, he’s gone to speak with Seeker Pentaghast.And thank the Maker for that. Yesterday we had a bit of an incident with some mages, and after that he was withdrawn. I don’t think he’s gotten much sleep – he’s been a right bronto’s arse all morning. When I asked him if he’d had his tea the look he gave me – I thought I was headed to the stocks for sure!”

Trevelyan handed the papers to Greta. “What do you mean he didn’t take his tea?”

Greta looked uncomfortable. “Ilia’s tea. I’ve noticed since Halamshiral that Ilia brings the Commander tea every morning, and they chat about the mages and Templars here at Skyhold, and the injured in the valley camps. The Commander says Illia’s just keeping tabs after the stomach illness, but I’m guessing it’s really about the tea? He slept in the valley camp last night, and came up the mountain just this morning. He was all sweaty when he arrived, despite the morning chill, like he was feverish. Sent Ilia away with just a few words. Barely touched the tea, and he couldn’t focus. Kept jumping up, walking to the windows, pacing the room, then sitting down, rubbing his elbows and knees. Kept opening and closing his bottom drawer. Bit poor Harding’s head off for even suggesting sending for you or Ilia.”

“Thank you, Greta, for the information. If this ever happens again, send a runner to Ilia and I immediately. Don’t let the Commander know – it is my standing order to you from now on,” Trevelyan touched Greta’s shoulder. “He is just so stubborn sometimes.”

Greta looked at the Inquisitor. “Thank you, my lady, for taking such good care of him. I was raised by warriors, in the Anderfels, have grown up with them and Grey Wardens both. The Commander’s ways, his demanding growls, they are nothing new to me. The good ones know they must keep us all safe and order us to die, both. It wears on them. So when we see it, we just fix it, don’t we, my lady?”

“When we can, we fix it,” Trevelyan nodded. “Speaking of, you look like you could use a break. Why don’t you go get some lunch for yourself. I’ll find him and see to what he needs.”

Greta smiled at the Inquisitor and left the office. Trevelyan moved to Cullen’s desk, opened the bottom drawer and pulled out the lyrium apparatus box. It was as unused as it had been when he’d admitted to stopping his lyrium. She placed it carefully back in his desk, replacing everything in the drawer as best she could.She also paused to check the direction Cullen had written on his reply to his sister. She made a note of it, then she left to find Cassandra and Cullen.

The courtyard was nearly empty and the smithy quiet for the noonday meal. Trevelyan could hear the raised voices from the door of the forge. She paused to listen.

“You asked for my opinion after our arrival back here after the Winter Palace. You asked again yesterday, and you ask again now. You asked for my opinion and I have given it. Several times. Why would you expect it to change?” Cassandra’s clipped Common sounded more cool than usual.

“I expect you to keep your word,” Cullen sounded hoarse. “It’s relentless… I can’t!”

“You give yourself too little credit.”

“If I’m unable to fulfill what vows I kept then nothing good has come of this. Would you rather save face than admit… ”

Trevelyan opened the door, unwilling to let him finish the thought. She walked into the forge slowly, unsure of what she would find.

Cassandra stood upright, hands on hips, facing down an agitated Commander as only Cassandra could.

Trevelyan was shocked at Cullen’s appearance. His body language was tense, his eyes sunken and purple, pale skin looking almost green under his blond stubble. He seemed worse than when he’d been bedridden. His shoulders fell when he saw the Inquisitor. He sent a furious glance at Cassandra and left the forge, a quiet “Forgive me” his only utterance to Trevelyan.

Cassandra rolled her eyes at his back. “And people say I am stubborn. This is ridiculous.” Cassandra paced the floor in irritation. She turned, arms crossed, and fixed the Inquisitor with a tense glare. “Cullen told you he is no longer taking lyrium?”

“Yes. Almost as soon as we arrived at Skyhold. Said he’d quit in Kirkwall.He seemed worried I wouldn’t like it, but I told him I fully supported his choice – respected his decision.”

Cassandra nodded and her face relaxed. “As do I. Not that he’s willing to listen. He’s asked that I recommend a replacement for him. I refused. It’s not necessary.” She walked to a rack of freshly finished swords and ran her fingers over the handles. She sighed, “Besides, it would destroy him. He’s come so far.”

Trevelyan heard the emotion in Cassandra’s voice and felt a frisson of possessiveness. “Why didn’t he come to me?”

Cassandra picked up a dagger and pulled it out of its sheath, inspecting the blade. “Cullen and I have had an agreement from long before you came to the Inquisition. From the first I asked him to join us and he left the Order and then lyrium behind, he made me promise, as a Seeker, to evaluate the risks and remove him if I felt he was a danger to himself or the mission of the Inquisition. And now, as if those were not reason enough, he would not want to risk your - disappointment.”

“Is there nothing we can do – he can’t – I don’t know if,” Trevelyan felt as if her heart were shrinking in her chest.

Cassandra snapped the dagger back into the sheath and set it down before fixing Trevelyan with her gaze. “If anyone can do something, it’s you.” Cassandra squeezed Trevelyan’s shoulder and smiled. “Mages make no secret of their suffering, so much so they started a war over it. Templars have never made their own suffering known, much less sought relief from it.When they take their vows they are bound to the order body, mind, and soul. Always with someone holding their lyrium leash. 

“Cullen has a chance to break that leash and prove to himself, and any others who would join him, that it can be done. He can do this. I knew that when we met – when I saw him again in Kirkwall.What I do not know is if he is willing to ask for help, for comfort. Talk to him, Trevelyan, help him decide if now is the time for his freedom.”Cassandra dropped her hand and walked from the room.

Trevelyan hugged herself. She felt cold, even standing in front of the forge. She had to find him, to make him change his mind. She ran for his office.

 


	34. Perseverence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen confesses the true horrors of Kinloch.

***

The apparatus box narrowly missed Trevelyan as she entered the open door to Cullen’s office.

“Maker’s breath! I didn’t hear you coming,” he said. “Forgive me.”

From the doorway she said, “Cullen, please – don’t keep whatever this is bottled up. It’s hurting you.” She bent to pick up the apparatus.

“You don’t have to get that,” he said. But as he moved around the desk his knees gave out. He hissed in pain, reaching back for the edge of the desk to stop his fall. Trevelyan reached for him, but he waived her off.“I never meant for any of this to interfere.”

Trevelyan noticed the set of his shoulders and stopped where she stood. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Yes!” he said too quickly. Trevelyan gave him a dubious look. He sighed. “I don’t know.”He walked to the windows, turning his back to her. He started to pace.

Trevelyan shut the office door and walked closer to Cullen, but stopped at the edge of his desk, placing the box and apparatus pieces on his desk. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m here.”

Cullen braced his arms on the frame of the window, the ghosts of memories chasing across his face. “You once asked me, at Haven, what happened at Ferelden’s Circle. Do you really want to know?”

“I do. I want to know you – all of you – and what happened there haunts you still. I can feel it.”

Cullen looked back at her, considering. “Even if what I told you made you see me differently afterwards?” 

“Nothing could make me lose my faith in you.”

His face blanched, but he said, “As you wish.” He turned away to the windows again.

“The short version is what everybody knows, that Ferelden’s Circle was overtaken by demons and abominations after one of the senior enchanters fell to a pride demon. Other mages fell, turned on each other, turned on us. The Templars, my friends, were slaughtered or corrupted– becoming demon thralls.

“In full, it was much, much worse. I felt it – the fall of Eldred. Knight-Commander Gregoire and a few others had gone to meet with the traders that supplied the island, so Farris – my friend – was the Knight-Captain in charge that day, with Bevan, who I had known since the Monastery, and I as platoon leaders. We started a sweep of the tower – standard procedure – half up, half down from the Templar briefing room at mid-tower. Farris went up, Bevan and I went down. By the time my platoon headed back up the tower, it was too late. We had to fight our own on the way back up to the Harrowing Chamber. Bevan would be mortally wounded. He died in my arms. Farris had been captured, most of the others killed or turned.

“We fought well – but in the end it was all for nothing – Eldred set off a power blast that knocked any remaining Templars cold just before we reached the Harrowing Chamber.

“I woke inside some sort of force field with a handful of the other Templars, including Farris. Eldred wanted us alive, wanted us to break, to become thralls to demons, cows for the blood mages.” Cullen rested his head on his hand for a moment. Then he started to pace again. “Farris was married to another Templar – Annlise. She’d been an expert with malificars, hunting them. She had had advanced training with fighting demons. When we came to she was already dead – hanging naked from this bloated mass of abominated flesh across the room. She’d been tortured, burned.Probably Rage demons. We could see her – smell her - from the cage.

“Days passed, maybe weeks. Who knows. The mental torture, the whispers in our minds- the questions - were nearly relentless. Still, we had each other, we endured. Soon Farris and I were the last ones left. And then…” Cullen was openly weeping, the tears flowing passed the bruised circles under his eyes, but he seemed to Trevelyan to be past noticing. “Annlise’s body had started to rot and bloat, which was bad enough. But the worst part was that she was, she’d been – with child – when she died. Her body expelled the baby.”

Trevelyan couldn’t move from where she stood.

Cullen continued. “A desire demon picked up the delicate body. It – she – was so tiny. Perfect. So small I could cradle her in my cupped hands.” He held his large hands out before him, as if he could see the child in his palms.“Farris gave up then; I saw the light leave him. He was the living dead. The demon appeared as Annlise with the babe in her arms. It told him to protect the children. He walked out of the force field, headed down the tower.” Cullen’s hands dropped.

“And then I was alone. Eldred, the demons, they delved deep – found every flaw, every desire, every petty grievance I’d ever had and tempted me with them. I was offered perfection, lust, power, and more – if I’d only give in. But I didn’t. I endured.” 

Trevelyan could barely breathe, tears flowing like Cullen’s.

“By the time the Hero came - the despair – the horror - I was well and truly mad with grief; I’m sure I was spouting nonsense and venom about mages, about Solona herself.

“After the Tower was cleared, after Solona left, I searched for their bodies. She had had to kill Farris to gain access to the tower, the demon, too. The baby was left near Farris’ body. I put them - the little family, Bevan - on the pyre myself, and sent them to the Maker’s side. I think it was the only thing that kept me sane.”

Cullen snorted in derision. “Sane? How are you the same person after that?”

He rubbed the back of his head. “The Order investigated how I managed to survive alone. There were suspicions I’d been turned, colluded with Eldred and the demons. The rumors were hard to take, but I was cleared. Even so, it didn’t lessen the guilt.” He started to pace again. “Still – I wanted to serve. The Seekers _promoted_ me to second Knight-Lieutenant.”

Cullen’s fine features twisted with disgust. “Then the Chantry sent me to _Kirkwall,_ of all the Maker-forsaken places.I trusted my knight-commander and for what? Her fear of mages ended in madness. She Annulled the Circle, despite there being no connection between Anders, the mage who destroyed the Kirkwall Chantry, and the Circle mages. There was no evidence, nothing rational upon which to base the decision to kill children, women, men just because they had been born with power people didn’t understand. In their fear, some in Kirkwall’s Circle resorted to blood magic in the initial attack on the Tower. In the chaos that followed, innocent people died in the streets.” He gesticulated wildly before turning to Trevelyan. “Don’t you see the problem?”

Trevelyan shook her head as she whispered, “I see no problem, _Machushla_ , only a man facing the horrors of war.” She walked toward him, wanting to comfort him.

“No. Look deeper. You must see it!”

“I’m sorry,” she said as she touched his cheek. “I just don’t see it.”

Cullen growled in frustration and turned away from her before he yelled, “I did my best! Both times I did my best, and still there was nothing I could do to stop the madness. Can’t you see why I want nothing to do with that life!”

“Of course,” she said as she tried to touch him again, to take him in her arms.

“Don’t,” he said, flinching from her. “You’re the Inquisitor, my commanding officer, my leader. You should be questioning what I’ve done, stopping my lyrium. I thought this would be better, that I would regain some control over my life, but these thoughts won’t leave me.What if I do my best, and it isn’t good enough? Again? How many lives depend on our success – what if I falter – what if I don’t have the strength?” He shoved his chair, pushed books off his desk.“I swore myself to this cause. I will not give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry.” 

He grasped his fisted hand, swinging them from side to side. “I should be taking it!” he growled, punching the bookshelves. “I should be taking it,” he whispered.

Trevelyan approached him slowly - as she would her agitated horse. “Cullen,” she whispered. When he didn’t respond she spoke again, but with a little more force to her voice, “Cullen!”

He looked at her. Focused on her face. She realized he hadn’t really been seeing her for some time. She held his gaze until she finally saw recognition. “Stop. Just, stop. To the Void with the Inquisition and damn the Chantry, too. This isn’t about the Inquisition, about being Commander. This is about Cullen Rutherford, the man. What do you really want – is taking lyrium what _you_ really want?”

He searched her face. Trevelyan could feel him searching for her opinion and did her best to stay still. Finally, his whole body relaxed.

“No,” he said, and dropped her gaze. “And it wouldn’t help with the memories, or the dreams.”

Trevelyan went to him. He reached for her, allowed her to hold him. “These memories have always haunted me. Will always haunt me,” he whispered into her hair. “If they become worse, if I cannot endure this – “

Trevelyan’s head shot up to look at his face, she turned his face with her finger tips to make him look at her. “You can.”

He covered her hand with his own and looked at her in his arms. She tried to let all of her faith in him show, in her eyes, in her touch.

“All right,” he said quietly.

She kissed him, chastely, and held him. It was how Cassandra found them when she appeared in the open doorway moments later.

“Good,” she said, noting the pair comforting each other. “But we have just had an urgent communication from Ferelden and we need you both in the Council chambers without any further delay. I stalled Leliana as long as I could. You should know she has a- soft spot – for Ferelden and her king. It was all I could do to keep her at the War Table.”

“Thank you, Cassandra,” she said as she looked up at Cullen and wiped at the tear streaks on his face. “I’ll go ahead. Take a moment for yourself and join us at the War Table.”

Cullen touched his cheek with the back of his gloved hand. “Yes, Herald, Thank you. I shall be there directly.”

Trevelyan nodded and left the room. 

“Cassandra Pentaghast, you have out maneuvered me, once again,” he said, removing his gauntlets and gloves and moving to his wash stand.

“Whatever do you mean, Commander?” Cassandra said as she leaned in the doorway.

Cullen splashed his face with fresh water from the jug and dried his face and hands before he answered. “You sent the only person in Thedas who could have talked me into staying.”

Cassandra came to stand at his desk and look at his maps. “I do not know what you mean. You simply did not need to be relieved. The Inquisitor knew it too. That is all.”

“Hmph,” Cullen exhaled and walked away from his friend, toward the door to the main castle bridge. “She is my weakness Cassandra. One I can ill afford.”

“But perhaps she is your strength, too!” she said to his back.


	35. Shadows Over Denim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King of Ferelden requests the Inquisition's aid.

Trevelyan burst into the War Council chambers, hoping her seeming haste would calm Leliana.

“Finally!” her Seneschal ground out. “Inquisitor, we must send aid to Ferelden, to Denerim, immediately!”

Trevelyan smirked. “And why is that?”

Josephine stepped between the two women, offering the Inquisitor a formal diplomatic scroll with the Great Seal of Ferelden visible on the bottom. “We have just received this request from the king.”

Trevelyan took the scroll and read.

~~~

_Inquisitor,_

_First things first: an apology. I offered the rebel mages safe harbor in Ferelden only to have them drive my uncle out of his own holdings, so I'll admit I wasn't in the best of moods when I first met you. I just wanted everyone out of Redcliffe, and didn't care who was responsible for what. I regarded you and the Inquisition as a necessary evil and not as a possible friend and ally. Now I wish I'd done otherwise. Isn't that always the way?_

_These cultists - Venatori, I think they're called? We have them in the royal palace, or so I'm told. Like rats - but with magic and nasty sneers. I don't know what they're up to, but I need to find them and drive them out. Since the Inquisition knows all about them, I'm hoping you'll help. Something something grateful something._

_Wait - did you just write that? You scribes do this on purpose, don't you?_

_Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden_

 

_P.S. I left that last part in because I thought it would emphasize the haste with which I ask for you to respond to this dire situation. So please just laugh and get here - AT_

_~~~_

Trevelyan smiled at the unorthodox farewell and thought back to their brief meeting in Redcliffe, when he’d told her off and kicked the mages out of Ferelden. Clearly, the King was more a man of action than diplomacy.

Cullen entered the Council Chambers and took up his place at the middle of the table.

“Are you alright, Commander?” Leliana asked, turning her gaze to her friend.

“Yes, thank you. Just a headache, nothing more.”Cullen gave Leliana a strained smile. Then he turned to the Inquisitor. “What is the problem, Inquisitor?”

“The King of Ferelden is requesting immediate aid in ridding the royal palace of Venatori. Thoughts?”

Leliana gaze sliced across the table. “We should do this quietly. I have just the agent in mind, ready to go at a raven’s notice.”

“Or we could make a show of it – helping the Crown is the right thing to do, after all,” Cullen said.

Josephine set down her quill. “We have never asked for formal permission to operate and occupy land in Ferelden. Perhaps we could use this as a chance to do so formally. A successful operation would give us leverage with the Crown, and perhaps even the Landsmeet.”

“But we don’t want to make the King look weak. Our presence in his realm is enough of an insult. We can’t have Inquisition troops storming the royal palace,” Leliana scoffed.

Trevelyan let her gaze jump back and forth between Leliana and Cullen.

“Very well,” she said. “Commander, how long before troops could be in place?”

“If we sent them from Caer Bronach, it’s seven days from orders here to boots in Denerim. From the Hinterlands, more like ten.”

“And your agent, Leliana?”

Leliana gave an Orlesian shrug. “Maybe four days, maybe six. The whereabouts of my people are never precise.”

The Inquisitor pulled her hair out of it’s pony tail and ran her fingers through it. Then she combed and twisted it back into shape as she looked at the map. Finally, she said, “I believe we should be visible. After our work at the Winter Palace, we want to ensure that Ferelden doesn’t feel neglected or slighted. Send troops, Cullen, uniformed as Inquisition, but under the banner of Ferelden. Enough to make the Venatori tremble.”

“With your permission I will send the orders to Caer Bronach at once,” Cullen came to attention.

“Very well. Go now. Make it happen.”Cullen acknowledged her orders with a nod, turned on his heel and walked to the door of the chambers. After Cullen left the room, she turned to Leliana. “I want you to send your agent ahead of our troops.”

“But why send the troops at all? It will make the king look weak.” Leliana said, arms crossed.

“I want your agent to contact the king first. I will draft a raven letter asking King Alistair for forgiveness for our past campaigns and for formal permission for our future operations in Ferelden. I will explain about the troops headed his way, and with my full support he can come up with whatever cover story suits him and his purposes. It’s the least we can do, as we are in control of, conservatively, a third of his kingdom. I am prepared to give him whatever he needs to sustain his control of the Landsmeet.”

Leliana’s look softened. “Very well, Inquisitor. Write your letter and make your offers. I will send it to Boots, who will take it to the king. They should come up with something good to cover the movements of our troops.”

“Do either of you know who Cullen will send as the commanding officer?”

Josephine nodded. “Normally I would have said the senior Knight-Captain at Caer Bronach, but that Ser Gervais has made some upward movement since Halamshiral. I believe the Commander likes his initiative as much as his discretion.”

Leliana nodded. “So far I have caught not a whisper of rumor about Cullen’s waking dream at the Winter Palace. This Templar is a man who can hold his tongue. If he weren’t already a Templar, I might try to recruit him as a spy.”

“And I would take him as a diplomatic attaché at a word,” Josephine added, smirking. “Which is why the Commander moved him to be a new Knight-Captain at Caer Bronach only a few days ago. He was becoming a bit too popular with Leliana and I. Cullen wanted the poor boy out of our sight.”

“Then he will be our contact. I will send him a raven personally asking for his help and giving him his orders to help the king and your agent. What will be the phrasing?”

“Tell him when he arrives in Denerim that if a man asks after his boots to answer that they are Antivan leather and smell of rotting flesh. The man will remark that all he would need is a bowl of fish chowder and a corrupt politician to feel at home.”Leliana smiled at Trevelyan’s disgusted look.

“Very well. I will go to my quarters to write the letters and meet you in the rookery.”

“But of course, Inquisitor,” Leliana said, and left to make her own arrangements.

“Any advice, Josephine?”

Josie set her quill and campaign desk down. “We have trespassed overlong in Ferelden, it is true, so be your most polite and ingratiating in your letter to the king. Leliana fought at his side, as well as at the side of the Hero of Ferelden, in the Blight. She protects him even today. Only her devotion to her Revered Mother Dorothea, the Divine Justinia as was, pulled her from his service.”

“He is a man lucky in his friends, Josephine,” she said as she looked at the map of Thedas. Orlais sat to the left, the vast and difficult empire of aristocrats. And then, to the right, Ferelden. Smaller, greener. People who, like Ostwick, breathed freeborn air. Vella tapped the map of Ferelden.“Tell me, is the king as good to his friends as they are to him?”

Josephine considered a moment before she answered. “I believe so, yes. The king is still inexperienced in matters of state and diplomacy. The Guerrins do much of his governing, along with Teryn Cousland, as you know. But he is loved of his people, is good and reasonable by all accounts. Too reasonable, when it comes to Gwaren. You met him, Inquisitor. What did you make of him?”

Trevelyan thought about that day. It was hard to sort out the shock of the time travel from the hasty retreat they’d had to make back to Haven with the mages in tow, but she made the effort. “Our dismissal from Redcliffe was unceremonious, but not unjustified. He wasn’t excessively enraged or aggressive. Angry, yes, but with just cause. Firm and insistent, as one would expect a ruler to be. I’d say he has the instincts of a king, the way he expelled the mages from Redcliffe. Yet he still knows to come to the Inquisition for help when he’s out of his depth,” Trevelyan shrugged. “Ferelden could do worse than a brave, humble, moderate king.”

“And handsome too, according to Leliana,” Josephine said with a small smile. “Is he handsome, Inquisitor? It would explain a great deal about the Nightingale and her behavior, at times.”

Trevelyan laughed. “Without a doubt. Just as all kings should be, if they possibly can,” Trevelyan said. “I prefer my men a little more seasoned, but I wouldn’t blame a young Leliana for being a sucker for that blue-eyed boy.”

Josephine picked up her quill and desk. “I take it we are to be the king’s friends then?”

“Unequivocally. Whatever it takes. Figure out Gwaren, if only to out flank her. You have my faith, Josephine.”

“For the Inquisition, my lady.”


	36. Repercussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra gives Trevelyan the chance to find out more about the young Cullen, but the information might come at a price.

Trevelyan took the king’s letter with her to the small library to find Elswyth. She called out to her friend as she came into the undercroft, having walked in on Solas and Elswyth making love against the library ladder the last time she popped in unplanned. She would prefer to avoid doing it again, despite a nice view of Solas’ rather epic bottom.

Solas walked out of the library adjusting his tunic just as she got to the door. “Well met, Inquisitor,” he said as he headed back upstairs.

Elswyth was still tightening the ties of her gown when Vella made it to the desk, her hair mussed and a little sweaty, her skin a glowing pink. “Vella, what timing you have!”

Vella chuckled at her cousin. “Were you quite finished? I'd hate to think I was interrupting?”

“By the Fade, Trevelyan, I've rarely been so well satisfied. The _hahren_ certainly is a beast under that urbane exterior. I'll have to ban him from this chamber, should I want to keep secrets or get anything done before the next season!”

This was no true complaint. Elswyth, like most of Vella’s people, had a healthy desire to couple, and no great aversion for what came after. Children were always a blessing.

“You know, we are going to have a host of children born at Skyhold, all near the same time - nigh three seasons from Satinalia, or so the healers are telling me,” Vella said. “You both served well, as Falcon and Sacrifice. Terrwyn is going to be a father for the first time. He and Gulbadan also believe it might be a love match.”

Elswyth smoothed her hair. “Ha! It is good to hear. I wasn’t sure it would work. I’ve still no idea where Solas’ magic lies - his magic has no natural home. That wily old mage is extremely difficult to know - as you said he would be. The Fade, or Rifts, is what it feels like, but also of spirit magic. Very old spirit magic, perhaps. I’ve got to go slowly. He’s still trying to play me like a courtier, though he’s smarter about it than he used to be. I shall have to be on my guard. If I were younger, I think I would be in danger of losing my heart, so good are his machinations. And his love making.”

“Please, Elswyth, peace. My sweet Cullen puts me off like a nervous bride, so for him I wait. It is not easy for me to forego the joys of the flesh. Need you rub it in?”

Elswyth finished pinning her hair into a neat bun. “Perhaps you should have attempted to seduce Solas yourself?” her teasing grin let Vella know she was kidding.

“If you recall, I almost had - before I realized where my true affections lay,” Vella gave back. “Solas is - fascinating - but I am for the all too human man this time around, Ellie. Forgive me for my uncomplicated choice.”

“Nonsense Vella. Cullen is anything but uncomplicated. A man with his history will come will plentiful difficulties. Still, I think what you mean is that you've chosen a fine, stout-hearted man of substance.”

Vella sighed, and a loopy grin came unbidden to her face. “He is though, isn’t he Ellie? No games, no magic. A survivor, by sheer force of will. To have been through what he has and come out kinder and more humane?”

Elswyth rolled her eyes, but smiled. “Oh, ay. Mary Sues, the two of you.  But I haven’t seen you this besotted in many a year; It is good to see.” Now tidy and calm, Elswyth clasped her handsin front of her, a picture of composure. “Now, perhaps we should speak of whatever brought you here?”

“Yes, I suppose we must,” Vella answered. “The King of Ferelden, as it happens,” Trevelyan said, handing the letter to Elswyth. “He's owed a reply, some help, and a serious sweet talk, so that we can now operate in Ferelden with the full sanction of the Crown.”

“Well let us get to importuning the king then, shall we?”

 

***

 

Once she and Elswyth had finished the last draft of the letter to the king, she set it to paper in her own hand, and signed it with her own seals, as well as that of the Inquisitor. Elswyth felt the Guerrins, particularly Eamon, should know the extent of Trevelyan's family connections. The Guerrins had their own family ties in the Free Marches. They would know Trevelyan's other titles, it might earn her some credit.

She went to the rookery and sent the ravens to Denerim and to Gervais with his special orders herself, confirming details with Leliana about her own missives. At last she was able to head for the Commander’s Office,the place she had most wanted to be over the last several hours.

The main door stood open, the room emptying of officers and a few aides. She waited for them all to leave, so they would be alone. He’d gone right back to work after his incredible disclosure, without so much as a hiccup in his composure. She worried for him.

She watched him for a moment, writing furiously before rolling the slip and sending it to the rookery with an aide.

“Have you got some time?” she asked.

He didn’t look up from his work. “Not at the moment, no. Now I have to finish the orders for the Denerim campaign, as well as those for moving into the Hissing Wastes. We’ve sent supplies ahead of us, but they can only go so far without going too far. All that takes calculations and risks. I have to concentrate to get this done.”

“But you need to eat,” she said. “Fiona said no more skipped meals.”

“Yes. I know. I will eat. I just can’t step away at the moment,” he said. He’d been reading or writing something during their entire conversation. He’d yet to look at her or make eye contact.

“Cullen, you must take a time for yourself. After today, I thought,” she hesitated. “I thought it was understood.”

“You could order me to do it, Inquisitor,” he said, without a trace of joking and still without a glance.

Trevelyan was taken aback by his attitude. “That’s not how I would like us to be, when it’s just us,” she stammered.

He paused, and his voice softened a little. “This is the best I can do, right now. So, if you please, just let me do it,” he said.

“All right then, I’ll - I’ll leave you be. Try to stop up later?” She tried to sound understanding and hopeful, when really she was hurt and confused. “I’m leaving for the Hissing Wastes at first light tomorrow. I’d like to see you before then.”

He looked up at her and adjusted his bracer. “If I get done.”

She` nodded, noticing no real promise had been made, as she turned to leave. She was crestfallen. She had thought he might need more support after his outburst. She hadn’t counted on him pulling away instead. Lost in thought, she went to the stables to visit Grim. After letting the big stud raid her pockets for treats like a child’s pony, she found a body brush and began to groom Grim’s silverite coat. Grim grew calm under her hands. Soon he stood with his lower lip dangling and his eyes half-closed.

“Inquisitor? Are you in here?” Cassandra’s rich Nevarran-accented Common queried.

Trevelyan patted at her moist cheeks, but knew there would be no hiding her red eyes from the sharp gaze of the Seeker. “I am here,” she said quietly, so as not to rouse Grim. 

“Ah, yes. With the Great Beast I see. Inquisitor, I was wondering if we could,” she stopped immediately when she saw Trevelyan’s face. “What is wrong? What news is this?”

Trevelyan sighed. “No news, Cassandra. You have caught me being only a woman, and not the Inquisitor.” Trevelyan went back to grooming Grim.

Cassandra crossed her hands behind her back and stood up straight. “Has something happened between you and the Commander? Would you,” the older woman paused, “would you like to talk about it?”

Trevelyan sniffed. “I believe I would like that. Grim is good at calming me down, but he makes a terrible confidante.”

Cassandra gestured to the barn doors. “How about some tea? In my quarters? The smiths will have all gone to dinner and the forge will be quiet.”

“Secrets and Swords? Like one of Varric’s books.”

The two women walked quietly across the stable yard, through the courtyard, and into the forge. As predicted, the smiths were gone, the forges banked, and the ladies had the room to themselves. Cassandra collected some coals for her brazier and the women climbed the stairs to Cassandra’s quarters.

Cassandra crooked a refined eyebrow at the Inquisitor as she prepared the teapot and the brazier. “Do you know much about Templars, Inquisitor? Not the things everybody knows, but the Truths?”

“You make them sound so mysterious. Are they really like that, or is it posturing?”

“The Templars have as many secrets as the Seekers, Trevelyan. Seekers are purposefully quiet to make ourselves phantoms. Templars do the opposite. They appear obvious so as to hide their own mysteries. I am wondering; you have many family members among the Order, have you ever heard of the Hallowed?”

Trevelyan let her mind drift to the things her Templar cousins would mention. “No. Should I know them?”

“Not really. Templars hold the Hallowed close and dear. The Hallowed have little business among the mundane and Circle mages avoid the subject altogether, out of fear.”

“What is so scary about the Hallowed?”

Cassandra sighed. “They are the swift and relentless swords of the Templars. Templar warriors of the deepest faith are common, yet many are merely tools of the Chantry. But the Hallowed, they are the best - an impeccable sense of justice, of morality, that deep sense of what Andraste asks from us all. They will make the right sacrifice, every time. They do not hesitate, and so are tasked with judging almost every Harrowing, often taking the killing blow because they just know when it is time. It is a great honor to be found Hallowed; many of them become Knights-Divine. Many heads of the Templar Order, the Knight-Vigilant, were Hallowed.”

Trevelyan noticed Cassandra was speaking around an issue. “And what happens to the rest of the Hallowed?”

Cassandra handed her a pottery mug. “Their self-sacrifice becomes self-destructive. They see the callousness of the others, the cruelty it creates in some of the members of the Order and it drives them mad with grief.”

Trevelyan sipped her tea. “It’s unlike you to hold back Cassandra.”

The Seeker gave the Inquisitor a pinched smile. “Cullen was recognized as Hallowed, from the moment he took his final vows, though his superiors were careful with his training and delayed his going to a Circle Tower as long as they could. Had the explosion at the Conclave not occurred, it is certain Cullen would have become a Knight-Divine, even with the unpleasantness at the Kinloch tower and the fall of the Gallows. He was a shining beacon of justice and faith. When I met him first, not long after Kinloch, his Holy Smite was the brightest I had ever seen, and I was told he’d been diminished by self-doubt.”

Trevelyan’s eyes widened in surprise. “You have known Cullen that long?”

“Yes, but for much of that time he was unaware that I was the Seeker who spoke with him. My hair was far longer at the time, and I also took steps to keep my identity from him at the time. I can manipulate the lyrium in the blood of a Templar; I made his memory of our interview a little fuzzy. The Divine was curious about the young man who survived Kinloch. She had been receiving reports on Cullen from one of her agents since he’d taken his vows; the agent called him the most promising young Templar since Nolan Brisson himself. So she sent Regalyan and I to interrogate him.”

“What was so unusual about his survival? From what you say you’d think he could walk through fire.”

“What was unusual is that he should not have survived at all. Eldred was in control of that tower for weeks. Literally every other Templar left inside had been killed or possessed. That Cullen had survived, in his right mind, and still Hallowed was a mystery the Divine wanted solved – mostly because she now absolutely wanted him for her Knights-Divine. 

“And as Regalyan and I had been trapped in Orlais for the Blight, it was a trip we were only too happy to make. The Archdemon had been destroyed only a season before we were sent to Ferelden to speak with Cullen; the Blight was still being purged in most places. Upon reaching the Tower, we discovered Knight-Commander Greagoir had sent him to Greenfell Monastery for his own safety not long after the tower was retaken by the Hero of Ferelden and her companions.” Cassandra offered Trevelyan some fruits while she cut fresh slices of cheese from the wheel on the table.

Trevelyan took a bite out of an apple, chewing slowly before asking, “Were the remaining mages hostile towards him? I have read reports that he wanted to invoke the Rite of Annulment at Kinloch, but the Hero wouldn’t allow it.” Trevelyan sobered. “Or was he a danger to himself?”

“Neither. Many of the Kinloch Templars who survived outside of the Tower, and especially those who were sent from Denerim to shore up the Circle afterwards, felt that Cullen must have fallen – must have made a deal with a demon, or a blood mage, at the expense of his Templar brothers and sisters. After the second attempt on his life, Greagoir knew something had to be done. So Cullen was sent to be the assistant to the Litany Master at Greenfell – ostensibly to train the youngest Templar recruits in the Litanies. He would be out of the way and still useful while the Truth was Sought.” Cassandra took a bit of cheese.

Trevelyan thought about Cullen sitting about, teaching and studying at a monastery. The man she knew didn’t even know how to stand still. “How did he take it? The inactivity?”

Cassandra smiled. “Better than you would have expected. He had lost friends, loved ones, at Kinloch. He was just – a much sadder man than you know now.

“We set up the spot where I was going to question him with a Dwarven memory stone, at the Divine’s request. Sometimes Regalyan would set multiple stones, for his own records.” Cassandra went to her trunk, “I had Leliana retrieve this from our quarters at the White Spire after we spoke around Satinalia, but I hesitated giving it to you. It is not my story to tell, not really. Has he told you more about Kinloch?”

“Yes, he has, quite a bit,” she answered.

“Now I think you should have this. The key words are ‘paragon’s ass,’ Galyan’s idea of a joke.”

Trevelyan took the stone from Cassandra. “I don’t know what to say.”

Cassandra closed Trevelyan’s hand over the stone. “I am not telling you to do it. I am giving you the choice. He has told you about one of the most horrific times of his life. This stone will tell you about some of the better moments of his time as a Templar. About the man Cullen before Kinloch and Kirkwall forged him into the Commander.I believe it will show you where part of his strength really comes from, at its root. But if you feel this would be too great a violation, give it back to him. Let him decide.”

“Thank you, Cass,” Trevelyan said, slipping the stone in her pocket.

“Come on now, Lady Eyre Anwyn, it is rude to sit at the table of another noble and not finish your tea.” Cassandra made an exaggerated gesture.

At Cassandra’s words, Trevelyan sat up straight and grinned at her friend. “Why thank you, Lady Cassandra, for the polite reminder.”She sipped her tea, her pinky extended in a mock show of noble manners.

Cassandra chuckled. “Yes, well. Do not make me remind you again. And do not use my style again or I will start using your style at birth.”

Trevelyan coughed up her tea. “You wouldn’t dare!” she sputtered.

“Would I not?” Cassandra raised her fine brows again. “I always dare. It is part of my charm. One does not become a Hand to the Divine without daring.”

Trevelyan realized Cassandra was teasing her. “You have been spending too much time with Varric and Sera.”

Cassandra only sipped her tea.

***

After Cassandra’s soothing tea and a quiet dinner, Trevelyan went up the stairs of her quarters with a bottle of wine and a heavy tread.She set the bottle on the table with a glass, and sat down on the edge of the couch. She fished the memory stone out of her pocket and placed it too, on the table next to the bottle and glass.

Then she pulled the cork from the bottle and poured herself a glass of wine. She drank and settled into the pillows, staring at the stone. She should ask Cullen’s permission first; to watch it without his knowledge and consent would be a violation.On the other hand, Cassandra already knew this part. There were reports about this somewhere in the archives of the Divine Justinia. It wasn’t really secret.

She poured more wine into the glass.If she asked and he said no, which he might just now given his coldness earlier, then she would be aware of the mystery but have no knowledge. What is worse, if she then watched the stone she’d be going against his expressed wishes. That would be worse than watching without his consent. 

Again, there were other ways she could find out, other official and unofficial means of digging into his past. She could just as easily read it in the records of Kinloch and the Divine. Or she could pry it out of Cassandra. She poured more wine.

Or she could watch it and hear his side, officially. His words, his truth, even if they were not originally meant for her ears. Perhaps that was best – he wouldn’t be editing for her sake, and this was the time when the memory was fresh. Twelve years was a long time, at their age.

The real source of Cullen’s strength? Trevelyan though about her own secrets and knew she’d be horrified if someone violated her trust to find them out. And yet, those very secrets were the source of her own purpose and determination, her own strength, such as it was. This man was integral to the success of her work, her calling as the Herald, and her commission as the Inquisitor. All of these were essential to the future of her familial duties and previous commitments -essential to the safe keeping of her own secrets.

In this light, she had to know if she could count on him. Cold reasoning told her his secrets must be the expense of her own. All she had to lose now was his trust. Better now, when his guard was already up. “Better to ask for forgiveness than permission,” she whispered. Better to lose now than when trust had grown to love.

She sat up and tapped the stone. “Paragon’s Ass,” she said. The stone glowed, and a pale, watery display shone up out of the crystal.

***

The squealing hinges of a monastery cell door broke harshly into the silence of the room. The man in the image did not stir from the bed, where he lay on his back, a small litany book on his chest, arm flung over his face to block out the light from the window. His body looked thinner than Trevelyan could remember – and Maker’s breath – he had grown a full golden beard. He spoke from behind his arm. "Let me guess, you have more questions," he said bitterly. "I have given you the best answers I have, what more could you possibly want?"

"I want what all Seekers want, Ser Cullen. The Truth," said a woman’s voice – clearly a younger Cassandra. The point of view was such that Trevelyan could see the room but not Cassandra. The stone must have been on her person, recording her perspective.

Cullen turned his head to look at Cassandra, his face showing quick recognition of the woman's armor and air of authority. He rose swiftly, tidying the monastic woolen robes he wore, before standing at attention.

"I see you still have a sense of self-preservation. Please, if you could show me the way to the southern field? The one with the scarecrow?” she turned and gestured to him.

Trevelyan watched Cullen lead Cassandra through the Greenfell monastery and out into the wheat fields that surrounded it on all sides. As he walked, he was stopped several times by small children -each one reciting a newly learned passage from the Chant, or one of the many Litanies used to suppress magic and keep Templars safe. His face, each time, was serious, but if encouragement – or help – was needed, his low whisper could soon be heard supporting the child’s memory.

Once past the wall he at first seemed to be wandering, but then as the fruiting trees cleared to open field, they reached the scarecrow.Trevelyan watched as Cullen turned his face up to the sun; suddenly the view tilted wildly and dropped to the ground. Trevelyan could see Cassandra’s hands shifting- moving a pack- and presumably the stone - into a better position. Cullen would not have even noticed. Finally Cassandra stepped forward over the pack, into view, and drew her sword.

Cullen dropped into a defensive, if weaponless, stance. Trevelyan noticed his usually perfect technique seemed slow.

"Relax, Templar," Cassandra said, offering him both her sword and her shield. "I'm told they have kept you from these for the past few months. Would you like to practice?" 

Cullen took the sword from her and swung it back and forth tentatively. He took a few light swings at the scarecrow.

The Cassandra made herself comfortable in the grass, sharpening her dagger while Cullen diligently went through his forms. As he worked, the Seeker asked him questions. The answers seemed rote – as if these were the same questions he'd been asked a hundred times before.

"You sound bored by these questions, Templar.”

“I am bored by these questions, but I have no other answers to give.”

Cassandra watched him adjust his grip on the sword before beginning again. “Well then. Here’s one I know you haven’t been asked before: How long were you in love with the Hero of Ferelden, before she saved you at the tower?"

Cullen stopped, "What?"

The Seeker gave Cullen a hard look. "Solana Amell, how long did you have feelings for her?"

Cullen's shoulders dropped, and he let the sword skim the tall grasses around the scarecrow. "Seekers do see everything, don't they?"

The Cassandra smiled. Her shoulders gave him an Orlesian shrug.

"If I were a better Templar, I would not have felt the inclination, despite her vivacity and loveliness. I knew my duty. Farris warned me. Annlise warned me. But I was weak."

"Yes, yes. She was lovely. You were weak. Nonsense."The dark haired woman snapped impatiently. "You are Hallowed; you must be an excellent Templar. I can see this as plainly as the nose on your face. Explain what your friends were concerned about."

"They saw my fondness for Red. They thought it meant I was unhappy with the Order, that I was about to do something rash.”

"Explain," Cassandra began wiping down her dagger.

The young Cullen looked pained. “I don’t know if I can,” he whispered.

The Seeker raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “Try.”

Cullen nodded once, beginning to practice again. After a few minutes he could speak. “I left home at thirteen, hardly more than a child, full of boyish enthusiasm. All I’d wanted to do for years already was serve the Chantry as a protector of the faithful. I wanted to be an instrument of the Maker’s will. For a few years, life as a Templar was perfect – I trained, I fought, I enjoyed the fellowship of the recruits in my class here at the monastery. I couldn’t have wanted more.”

He dropped his stance. “We have no formal Circle here at the monastery, so there were few mages and no Harrowings.Death had only come to the older Templars, those sent out on raids against apostates and hedge mages. And then we lost a Templar our own age at the hands of an apostate blood mage when I was about 16 summers. He’d been kidnapped – abused for some ritual. They made us stand vigil over his mutilated body before his cremation. They let it be a lesson to us all. It wasn’t until then that I really understood what it meant to live life so close to danger, to death.”Cullen looked down and frowned at his feet, adjusted his stance, then he stood upright again, squaring his shoulders and bringing the shield back up.

“It also didn’t help that about that same time I had finally started to notice the female members of the Order. Greenfell is strict. The cloisters are separated for the most part, and recruits are not allowed to fraternize with the opposite sex until after we take our final Templar vows. Put that frustration together with the feeling of lurking death, and what I got was a sense of vague wretchedness. Fortunately, I excelled at everything else the Templars required of me, so my faith in the Maker, my desire to help people, was enough to get me through those last two years until my final vows.”

He stopped his practice again, his cheeks flushed. "May I speak plainly, Seeker?"

"Of course."

He looked relieved. “Like most Templars, my first sex was with a fellow Templar the night I took my vows and my first undiluted Lyrium. Sex on lyrium is, well, beyond description. Everything else falls away. Finally, I thought, I had an outlet for all those feelings I didn’t know what to do with, a way to lose myself, if only for a time. I did not miss any opportunity and enjoyed many things.”

“I appreciate your candor, Templar, but what does this have to do with Solona Amell?”

A look of irritation pinched Cullen’s eyebrows together. “Do you want answers, or not? This isn’t actually easy for me, Seeker. I am trying to tell you what you want to know.” He swung the sword sideways, cutting the tops of the grasses again. “If I’m to be drummed out of the Order, I’d rather have it be for my actual sin.”

Cassandra looked surprised for a moment, before she murmured, “I am sorry. Please continue.”

Centering himself, Cullen began to practice precise overhand strikes to the joint of the poor scarecrow’s neck and shoulder. “Even with the dangers I had begun to face as a regular part of my official roll, my life was perfect again. I was successful in my assignments. Preferment and promotions came quickly. I was transferred to the Chantry House in Denerim. Soon I was Knight-Lieutenant to the Knight-Captain tasked with the safety of the Revered Mother.”

“The Knight-Captain, Heloise, she became my mentor,” he stopped his strikes and looked at the Seeker pointedly, ”in all things.” He walked away, staring at the horizon.

“It wasn’t love for either of us, but at the end of the day we had each other. For just over a year we were more to each other than mere sex partners. She meant enough to me that finally being transferred to the officer corps at the Kinloch Tower was difficult.”

“I threw myself into the work there and into the pleasure-seeking release of Templar meditation to forget what I had had in Denerim. Gradually I came to know Farris and Annlise, a married couple at Kinloch who were a few years older than me. We became friends; one lyrium-laced night after a Harrowing, we became lovers. But it’s hard to be the spare. They sensed my restlessness, I think. And then I met Solana, or Red, as I called her. Red had been under the care of another Templar when I first came to the tower, but when that Templar was killed hunting a blood mage, I was given some of her charges.” 

Cullen set down the Seeker’s shield and sword, and stretched out on his back in the grasses near the young woman. He was silent for some time. “The sound of the wind in the grasses here reminds me of Honnleath.If I keep my eyes shut I can almost imagine I’m at home, that I’d never joined the Templars, that Farris and Annlise and Bevan,” he stopped himself.

“You don’t have to explain. I have read your report, and Greagoir’s.” Cassandra offered.

“Thank you. Anyway, I was sitting alone on one of the tower balconies after dinner, shortly after Red came into my custody. I had been – emotional - all day. That morning I had received a letter from my sister telling me my grandfather Stanton had died. Red just came up to me and put the huge orange cat that lived with the mages in my arms. Mr. Wiggins rolled over on his back and started to purr. We sat like that, she sittingbrushing out her hair, me with the giant cat in my arms, not saying a word, until evening prayers. I think I loved her, for that simple comfort.”

“From that time on, we would meet by chance on that balcony. Nothing untoward ever happened out there – she healed a few of my bruises, I lent an ear to her thoughts. Compared to my life within the Templars these moments were simple and chaste. I’d like to think those meetings gave us each brief moments of comfort.Our encounters were never planned, at least not by me. Now I have cause to believe there may have been some maneuvering on her part, however.”

The Seeker leaned back on her hands and stretched her long legs out in front of her. “What makes you think that?”

“Because of how she arranged to give me her maidenhead,” Cullen said flatly. “She found me after the most terrible Harrowings I have ever faced. He had been a childhood friend from my hometown. It’s the only time as Hallowed I’ve ever hesitated, and I got myself injured and two good men killed. Red came into the washroom and healed me. Then she kissed me with the taste of lyrium still on her lips. Maker forgive me, but I pulled her to me and kissed her back.

“I tried to stop, what we had begun was so trifling compared with the seriousness of the possible consequences, but she didn't even really give me a choice in the matter. She shushed my concerns like a dog at a table. She said I was worthy, whatever that meant, and that I would be safe, always. Suddenly we had already begun the act.”

“You don’t sound like you were unwilling,” Cassandra sounded dubious.

Cullen sat up abruptly, angrily, and shouted at the Seeker. “I asked to be a Templar. I chose to complete the Vigil, take my vows, and consume Lyrium. I chose each day to allow my faith and morality to guide me when I made decisions about my charges, or about apostates, or Harrowings. I even chose to kiss her back. But I did not choose to completely break faith with my vows simply for the amusement of an apprentice unwilling to go to her Harrowing a main. She abused my trust.”

The Seeker’s annoyed gaze met Cullen’s livid expression. He sprang to his feet and walked to the scarecrow. He crossed his arms. “I mean, to be absolutely fair, I wanted to be there, wanted to be with her, she didn't do anything to me that I didn't enjoy. I accept my part in what happened between us. But I’ll never forgive that breach of trust, her selfish disregard for my concerns. Ever.

"Annlise found me later, in the washroom. I was not myself. She calmed me down, distracted me with cleaning up. Between Annlise and I we managed to keep me from Red for the weeks until her Harrowing. I was assigned to her Harrowing and if I asked to be reassigned it would have caused talk – there are few Hallowed in the Order these days – I was one of only two in Ferelden. I would have done my duty, but was nevertheless relieved when Farris was able to get me reassigned. She passed. One less nightmare. Afterwards she managed to find me alone again, and I followed Annlise’s advice. I was harsh with her, cruel. But it worked. She left me alone; Farris and I had her transferred to Bevan. Not long after that she left to become a Grey Warden and the rest is Ferelden history.” Cullen moved to where the sword and shield lay in the grass, stooping to retrieve both. “Well, there it is. But for the life of me I can’t see the connection between Solona and what happened when Uldred took over the tower. Whatever you decide, I know I have done wrong. I will accept any punishment, pay whatever price.”

“Nothing so dire, Ser Cullen. Shall we say that the Hero of Ferelden has blessed you with her protection; simple as that,” Cassandra smiled – the first genuinely warm response she had given the young Templar.“Having lived through Kinloch, would you thank her for it?”

“I don’t know. At this moment, I honestly don’t know.” Cullen didn’t move. “Is it true, about Solona?”

Cassandra stood, dusting her leather pants off. “Is what true? Executing Teyrn Loghain? Putting aside the Queen? Killing the Archdemon? Crowning her Warden-lover, King Maric’s bastard, King of Ferelden?”

He whispered, “All of it. Is it true?”

“Quite true.”

Cullen handed Cassandra her sword, hilt first. “Thanks for the practice.” Then he rubbed his beard. “I just hope he – I just hope she is happy.”

Cassandra seemed distracted in the top of the memory frame. She didn’t respond. Cullen looked in the direction of her gaze. What appeared to be an elderly man, moving as quickly as his stooped back and walking stick would allow, was headed over the rise and in their direction. He looked scared, and glanced back over his shoulder, tripping as he did so.

Three of the older Templar recruits – those old enough for patrol at the monastery, but not yet full Templars – followed menacingly. They kicked the man and brandished their weapons at him as he cowered. The man raised his empty hands and pleaded with the boys, but they ignored him, continuing to beat him.

The man on the ground covered his head and emitted a flash of green light – a stun spell that knocked the recruits back - before rolling into a ball, clearly giving up.

For their part, the recruits weren’t accepting his surrender. Enraged, the two-handed warrior in full mail kicked the elderly mage in the chest. One of the others began raising his sword for a death stroke.

Cassandra set off at a run but Trevelyan could see she was going to be too late - they were still too far away. Cullen, however, stopped dead, his shoulders dropped like he was exhaling, and a flash of stark white light emanated from him. Cassandra barely noticed when the light hit her back, but it sent all three Templars into the air – weapons flying harmlessly out of reach. The mage gasped in surprise, then relaxed where he lay. Cullen walked closer before dropping Cassandra’s shield completely and raising both hands toward the mage, palms up and open. The old mage took an offered hand, blubbering and thanking Cullen as he stood.

Cassandra moved into a fighting stance and growled at the still disoriented young Templars. Cullen moved to still her blade. “Stand and report, Recruits!” he barked.

They all groaned as they tried to move.

Cullen, clearly seething, continued. “Not that I should call you that – you don’t even know what it means to Serve the Maker, to protect against magic. The lot of you should be thrown out of the Order for the behavior I saw just now.”

Finally one said, “Shit, Ser. I didn’t know Holy Smite could do that.”

“It normally can’t, you arsehole,” said the taller sword and shield wielder. “Fuck. He must be the Hallowed from Kinloch. We’re lucky we’re not dead.” This recruit removed his helm and raised himself to his knees. “Ser Cullen, right? I apologize, Ser.”

“Shut up, Rufan,” said two-hander who had been kicking the mage. “You’ll get us all in trouble.”

The recruit on his knees kept talking. “I’m ashamed of myself. We were on patrol and Beauvais spotted this doddering old hedge mage and he thought he’d have some fun. I didn’t stop him, even though I was the Watch lead.”

“Maker’s balls, Rufan,” said Beauvais. “That can’t be the guy from Kinloch. I saw this guy in the yard the other day and he could barely hold his sword without shaking.” This from the shorter warrior, the one who was going to take the deathstroke. “He spends most of his day with the children and babies.”

Trevelyan could see Cassandra look from the recruits to Cullen, and back again. She was clearly waiting to see what he would do.

Rufan didn’t budge. “Maybe, but this is the Templar that’s been teaching the first years their litanies, the only Templar to have survived inside Kinloch, the first Templar in an Age found Hallowed on the night of his vows. This guy’s so moral he could sleep naked next to Andraste herself and neither Maferath nor the Maker would mind because he’d never touch her.”

Cassandra laughed outright, as did the hedge mage. Cullen ran a hand over his face.

The hedge mage finally said, “Let him down easy, Cass. He’s passed the test and you know it. It wasn’t exactly fair to the recruits, either. Though it did show their quality.”

“Forgive us, Ser Cullen. We had to know.” She gesture to the felled recruits. “We sent them on a snipe hunt – with my companion Regalyan as the snipe – glamored to look like an old hedge mage.”

Regalyan stood up slowly, hands up. As he did the glamor fell from him, and where there had been a rickety old man, there was now a vital young one.His was a mild handsomeness; most of all he gave off a sense of gentleness and humor. No wonder Cassandra love him, this mage Regalyan. “Your Smite is powerful, Ser Cullen. I apologize for the ruse. The Right Hand and I needed to know if Kinloch had – broken you – in anyway. On orders from the Divine Herself.”

Cullen looked disgusted. “Fucking mages, always making light of things,” was all he said before he stalked off back towards the monastery.

Regalyan healed the Templar-recruits. Cassandra both thanked them for their help and chastised them for their treatment of the mage. Then she sent them back to the monastery to await punishment.

When the boys were far out of the frame of the stone, Cassandra and Regalyan kissed passionately. “I thought they were really going to hurt you,” she whispered.

“I’m harder to mark than that,” Regalyan said. “So, what do we know?”

“Solona gave him her maidenhead – although pounced upon him might be more accurate. He did not appreciate the breach of trust.” Cassandra moved to pick up her shield. “He does not even know what gift his patroness gave him. I believe it was the Maiden’s Blessing. A very rare thing, indeed.”

Regalyan smiled.“Maiden’s Blessing?”

Cassandra waved a hand at him. “It is all in the name. It is a blessing given by a maiden mage to her lover just before her first – consummation. If there is blood and she has her pleasure from him, her lover receives a benediction, the nature of which depends on the words spoken, but is usually about love or safety. Maybe health or fertility, depending.”

Regalyan adjusted his robes, shedding the sack-cloth hedge mage hood and mantle. “I would never have believed that a little innocent blood magic was what kept that young man safe. Is there a way to tell for sure?”

“I do not know. Not many still believe in that piece of Avvari folklore, let alone practice it. Most do not believe in benign blood magic. The Warden must be a powerful mage. Even so, it seems the most likely explanation.”

“Seems plausible. I’ve felt his Smite. He would have only needed a very little bit extra to keep Uldred out,” Regalyan said.

“So? What do we do with him?” Cassandra rifled the pack, taking out a small scroll and a charcoal pencil, making a few notes. When she was done she said, “He would be the perfect Knight-Divine in a few years, especially with that benediction. But he is not yet ready.”

Regalyan nodded. “I agree. He’s still volatile – outraged - enraged.” He looked up at the sky for a moment. “Let us think – excellent warrior, leadership potential already recognized, moral to his teeth, but currently very, very angry at mages. Perfect! He’d be perfect for a Knight-Captain at Kirkwall.”

“A promotion? And to Kirkwall of all places?”

“Yes. All that horror at the Tower and he still protected an unknown mage from unjust treatment. Any other Templar would have joined the boys in my beating and praised their caution with an apostate. Hallowed, indeed.” Regalyan picked up the pack, and the view shook and swung again.

“He’s still so angry he’ll fit in at first – before his better spirit catches up with him. You and I both know someone has to watch Meredith, but that someone would have to have her trust first. So send him as a Knight-Lieutenant, first class. Let Meredith think the promotion to Knight-Captain is her idea.”

Cassandra made another note. “I agree. Everything there was too perfect – too by the book where it wasn’t overly harsh. She’s hiding something. I could feel it, but not find it. Maybe we should keep his Hallowed status out of his orders for Kirkwall? Give the poor man a break?”

“Good idea. Though I’d love to see Knight-Commander Stannard’s face should he ever let loose with that level of Hallowed Holy Smite in Kirkwall. I don’t think Meredith would like the moral judgment upon her.”

The view tilted wildly again. Suddenly Regalyan’s fine features and gentle green eyes were centered in the frame – Cassandra’s point of view. “Why is that?” Cassandra asked.

“Imagine what it would do to Meredith! It barely touched you. It flattened the recruits, stunning them. And after it stripped my mana away, it felt like love – like a divine love sent to protect me – to protect us all.” He kissed Cassandra’s gloved hand.

“I think you were hit harder than you let on,” Cassandra drawled.

He looked down, right at the stone it seemed. He pulled Cassandra close. For a moment Trevelyan felt like looking away, so raw and personal was the emotion on his face. “It rather reminded me of you, Cassandra,” he said, and then reached out to tap the stone.

~~~~~~~~

Trevelyan blinked when the stone finally went dark. She could see now why Cassandra had been so upset after the explosion at the Conclave. Regalyan seemed like a lovely man. To think Cassandra was dealing with that in the months and weeks at Haven, and even here at Skyhold. Anguish ran over, in that memory stone.

Trevelyan picked up her wine glass and drank. She would have to find a way to thank this Solona Amell. She may have been unaware of her gift, but it did not lessen Trevelyan’s appreciation. Worthy, Solona had called him. That and more, Trevelyan agreed, toasting her glass to the air.

But the bigger lesson was that she would have to tell Cullen she’d seen this, and soon. Trust, is seemed, was the most important thing to Cullen, afterall. She would have to tell him the truth about this stone, about what she knew. She would have to pray he would forgive her.

She sat at her desk to think about how to tell him, half hoping he would come up to see her. Something about their parting told her he wasn’t going to come up, but part of her still wished it to be. Eventually she gave up and readied for bed, leaving the note writing for in the morning.

 


	37. Comfort Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen faces his communication problem. Will Cullen and Trevelyan find a way forward?

~~~ From Tower of Bone Camp

Cullen -

Just before I sat to write this, I walked the vast pavement of Judicael’s Crossing, looking up at the ancient statues and down at the deep river valley it spans. I was awestruck. With the Inquisition Army at your disposal, you have built bridges, large and small. Given enough time, I am sure you could flatten mountains as well. You are the most accomplished man I know; in many ways the most accomplished person I have ever known.

Which is why, at the risk of losing your affections, I must confess a breach of your trust. I was given a memory stone recently, and after much deliberation, I watched it without discussing it with you. As Inquisitor, I watched to make sure we weren’t putting the Inquisition at risk. As Eyre Anwyn, I watched to better understand you and your past.

The stone contains your interrogation by Cassandra and Regalyan D’Marcall, which you no doubt remember. However, it also contains their speculation on how you managed to survive the tower. They believe, as I do, that you survived the tower because of the admiration your actions inspire in others. Your intrinsic worthiness gave you the power to keep the demons out. I believe, underneath it all, your own strengths got you through.

Too, I understand why you got so angry when Solona hid the truth from you and dismissed your feelings. I too broke trust with you when I watched this without your permission, even if as the Inquisitor, I needed to know. As Eyre Anwyn, I beg your forgiveness. I would miss you, if you cut me off as you did Solona. There is wisdom in avoiding entanglements within the command structure, I see that now. Yet I find for myself at least, I am still willing to take the risk. We are good for each other.

I give you the stone to see for yourself. The key words are ‘paragon’s ass’ - the mage’s choice, not mine.

In Admiration,

Eyre Anwyn

~~~~~~~

“Thank you, Cassandra, for passing this along,” he said. His heart felt like it was trying to pump out of his chest. He simply set the letter down on his desk, waiting for the feeling to pass without showing too much emotion to the Seeker. It would be unprofessional.

Cassandra set the stone down next to the letter. “I should have shared this with you when you joined the Inquisition, just to clear the air. Sending you to Kirkwall, that was my decision. We needed someone like you watching Meredith, but it was a terrible thing to do to someone who had just been through that ordeal at Kinloch.”

Cullen thought about Kirkwall. The people he had met, the things he had seen, the actions he had taken. “Kirkwall was the making of me, Cassandra,” Cullen said, staring at the stone. “I might have been just another callous Templar. I was just another callous Templar, until I saw the very worst of the Order and the madness of Knight-Commander Stannard. I am better for it. You are forgiven, Lady Seeker.”

Cassandra raised her eyebrow. “Good, because I very much think you will not like what I have to say next.”

“What’s that?”

She stood up tall, which for Cassandra was almost as tall as Cullen himself. “Every time Trevelyan leaves Skyhold, she might never return. We all know it, and it scares all of us. Which is why I cannot believe how cold and selfish you were to use _work_ as an excuse to avoid seeing her before she left. You were shaken, I saw, but _you_ were the one who opened up about Kinloch, _you_ told her your truth and then you shut her out. Her faith in you is unshakable, and yet you refused to take the comfort she offered and instead cut her to the heart. You showed no faith in her at that moment. I would have never expected such inexcusable rudeness from you.”

Cullen looked down at his desk. “I see.”

“I hope you do. I hope you get a chance to correct your mistake,” Cassandra said, her stance relaxing a little.

“Cassandra, please,” he said, “no need to twist the knife. My usual methods of dealing with my Templar crap won't work with our lady, I see that. Now.” Now that he’d fucked up.

“Watch the memory stone, Cullen. Allow yourself to be comforted. If anyone deserves it, you do.”

“Thanks, Cass.”

***

The rolling green forrested hills of Val Firmen gradually gave way to grass and withered bushes, sometimes brown and sometimes green, and then finally to sand, dunes upon dunes of whispering grit.

This was the edge of the Western Approach,the first Inquisition camp where Harding and the other scouts had been helping Hawke and Stroud locate the remote tower the Grey Wardens were using. The forward scouts had been sending almost daily reports back so that Cullen and the others could plan for the who, the what, and the how of the Inquisition Army. Right now, the Inquisitors companions and the scouts were all they could manage. Even so, the horses would be heading back to the large camps in the Exalted Plains.Josephine was negotiating with local lords for some Abyssal Hang-Tooths, at Cullen’s behest. Horses needed too much water.

Trevelyan hadn’t even ridden Grim, knowing no one would be able to handle getting him back to the camps, let alone Skyhold. Dennet promised - in front of Grim - to let him out over night in the courtyards and down in the valley camps as often as possible.

“I hate to complain, Inquisitor, but this shite gets everywhere,” Sera said as they went through their gear in the ??? camp.

Trevelyan smiled as she shook out her boots. “I’ve got some powdered starch left. Should help you get rid of the sand.”

“Pfft,” Sera said. “I was never a very fussy girl, Inky, but I’m gagging for a proper bath. Soap and all. Maybe even perfumes, if we can find some.”

“From your lips to the Maker’s ears, Sera,” Trevelyan teased. “Tomorrow, you will get your wish. We’re camping at a cliff oasis. Harding told me about it during our briefing. Apparently, it’s quite lovely, and they’ve already sent a small wash tub ahead. No perfumes though.”

Sera threw her boot down and did a little dance. “I’ll take it, Inks.”

Trevelyan wiggled her toes in the sand, cool in the shade of the tent. “Do you think we could make it to the mess tent without boots? I can’t bare the thought of putting those on again.”

Sera looked over the camp. “The messis under an awning. Can’t be that hot. We best get there before our larger brethren over eat. Bull could eat half a bronto himself,” Sera said, likewise leaving her boots behind.

Trevelyan stuck a foot into the sun-heated sand just past the shade. “We’d better run for it,” she said.

Sera giggled as she started to run, surprising Trevelyan. “Last one there’s got to rub the lotion on the Iron Bull!”

It was the last little bit of fun they had, on that trip.

***

The tents huddled closely together, rows straight but columns staggered to break the valley winds. The camp lined both sides of the riverbed now, though the nearside group was still larger. Cullen let his mind wander to his childhood discussions with Grandfather Stanton. He would need to protect the camps from flooding, and there were dangers of avalanches as well. He would have to see about putting the engineers in a room with some Avvars, if they could find any friendly enough to talk to the Inquisition. Their mountaineering expertise would be invaluable. Perhaps dwarves could be consulted about building into the sides of the mountains.

Cullen caught himself and sighed. These problems were not what brought him out to his overlook; the sinking sun was telling him he had little time to waste. He’d received word earlier that Trevelyan had returned to the castle. He’d sent a note that he would like to speak with her, when she had the time. He hoped she would accept his invitation to resume her afternoon visits. It had been weeks. He longed to see her.

The last time he had seen her, he had been abrupt, dismissive. In truth, he just hadn’t known how to behave after his lyrium-withdrawal fueled outburst and had sent her away with no explanation because of his embarrassment. How was he to be her protector, her safe harbor, when he doubted his own abilities?And yet, despite his weakness, in her letter she wrote she still admired him. Still wanted to be with him.

“Dammit. Dammit to the Void,” he muttered to himself. He closed his eyes, Cassandra’s words coming to him like a litany - allow comfort, be comforted. The tangible brush of the wind and warm kiss of the sun on his face consoled his spirit, reminded him of Eyre’s kiss and caress. In this material world, she wanted him as he wanted her. When he saw her next he should just take her in his arms, kiss her, and beg her forgiveness for being an immature and insensitive bronto’s ass.

Cullen heard the door from his office clank and rasp along the stones. He turned to greet her. One glimpse of the cautious look in her silver eyes made him falter in his bold plan. He’d put that cool look on her face.

Heartsick, he started to ramble, “I w-wanted to thank you, to…when you came in that afternoon, when you came back…there’s no need to apologize to me - if there’s anything I can,” he stopped himself, hand passing over the already well-chafed hair on the back of his head. “This went so much better in my head.”

Trevelyan smiled reassuringly. “I trust you’re feeling better?” she queried. “Being that vulnerable, it can be very frightening.”

“I,” Cullen saw the warmth return to her eyes, her reserve brushed away by his single embarrassed gesture. “Yes,” he whispered, looking away. He paced the wallwalk.

She came closer, but stopped just outside his path, giving him space. “Are your attacks always like that?”

He shrugged. “The pain is there many days, but many others it is not. The pain is easy. Sometimes the dreams and memories make me feel like I am back there, back,” he left off. “I should push myself less, when the pain comes.” He looked down, unable to meet her gaze.

Trevelyan closed the distance between them, reaching out for his hand, taking it in hers as she said, “I’m just happy you’ve made it back from that place, that you are here and whole.” She stood next to him, her gaze ranging the mountains as she held his gloved hand.

Cullen pulled their hands to his chest, running his free hand along their interlaced fingers. “I am,” he said with confidence, “I am back.” They stood like that for a moment. Cullen felt comforted; he let the feeling sink into his bones so he might never again forget.

At last he said, “I’ve never told anyone about Ferelden’s Circle, the true extent of what happened with Annlise and Farris and the baby. It did frighten me, what others might think. The betrayal of the mages, the slaughter of my friends, the baby. It all made me angry. Maker forgive me, but I was furious. For years, that anger blinded me. I’m not proud of the man that made me. The way I saw mages, and I was so cold. I closed myself off from caring about anyone. I even stopped writing to my family with any regularity.

“I’m not even sure I would have cared about you in those first years, and the thought of that frightens me. Being clear of the lyrium and free of the Order has given me some distance from what happened in Kirkwall and before at Kinloch. I am relieved Cassandra gave you that stone. Now you know everything. I’m at liberty to begin again and find I have a purpose unlike any other. ” He brought her ungloved hand to his lips, placing feather-light kisses along her knuckle.

Trevelyan searched his solemn face. “You make me proud to know you, as you are now.”

“Even after…” His voice trailed off, wavering a little.

Trevelyan used her free hand to turn his face, making him meet her silvery gaze. “You’ve done nothing that changes the way I feel about you, Cullen. I don’t think you could.”

His expression softened; she seemed always to smooth his ruffled world. His manners caught up with him. He gave her the full attention of his warm umber eyes.“Forgive me. You have the weight of Thedas on you right now, and I’m whining about my past. How are you, Herald?”

She looked away, blinking back tears. “Terrified. Flustered, like I might fly off screaming into the heavens.” She gazed at their hands. “These hands feel like much needed moorings keeping me on the ground. The Inquisition cannot fail the people of Thedas. I cannot fail. I must stop Corypheus.”

“You need not doubt the Inquisition or yourself. Your confidence heartens people wherever you go. They need to see your strength and determination. Leave the worrying to me and the Maker,”the fervor in his voice buoyed her spirits.“You can ask anything of me. I’ll never make you doubt me or our affinity again.” Cullen dropped her hands to bow and salute the Inquisitor, fist to heart.

She acknowledged his gallant gesture with a small nod before she whispered, “Hold me?”

Without hesitation Cullen tucked her into his chest and ran his fingers into her hair. “Your wish, my lady.” She buried herself in his embrace, and he felt her shoulders shaking as she cried.They didn’t last long, her tears, just enough to wash away the doubt about herself and their cause. For this, he thought, for this he would face Eldred again a thousand times, for this amazing woman to find solace and strength his arms.In that moment, he knew his own strength.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay. I wrote the parts I wanted to see, and in trying to make a narrative I have to add...narrative. I'm hoping to get a chunk more stringing together over spring break. New chapters will be at about this pace, faster if I can.


	38. Tarasyl'an

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning from the Western Approach, new friends are made even as a great battle looms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ei’hearna are the horse the Trevelyan family breeds. They’re like the Mabari in that they choose you.
> 
>  

***

 

Trevelyan stood at her desk, looking over the book and journal she had brought back with her from the Emerald Graves. They had made a stopover there so that she could meet with a woodsman called Fairbanks. His information had been valuable, and his request for aid for the refugees more than reasonable. Moreover, there was a little bit to his past she would need to discuss with her advisors, but it could wait. They had to plan for Adamant, once Hawke and Stroud returned from scouting in the Approach.

“My lady!” Elswyth said as she reached the top of the stairs. “Leliana and Cassandra are here, as you asked.”

She turned to greet them, inviting them to sit before joining them at the little sitting area in front of the couch. “I am told that the Chantry has made overtures to you both, has said you are both needed in Val Royeaux. I have no doubt you are; the Chantry is a mess. I don’t know your own thoughts on becoming Divine, but I would ask that any decisions be delayed. We are at war with the Venatori and Corypheus, and I need you both here.”

“Of course, Inquisitor. I have been working with those lesser Mothers that were not at the Conclave, as has Cassandra,” Leliana said. “Together we are sorting out the positions at the larger town Chantries, putting the right people in place, as much as we can. So many of the Chantry leaders were killed in the explosion.”

“That is so, Inquisitor. When we are in Val Royeaux, we meet with them and look for diamonds in the rough. As the Hands of the Divine Justinia, and your advisers, they have put their faith in us,” Cassandra added.

“But of course, we will not be persuaded to leave until our work here is done,” Leliana assured.

“I am pleased,” Trevelyan said. “I don’t think I could do without you - without either of you,” she said with a sad smile. “They are wise to seek your council.”

Cassandra crossed her arms, but was smiling. “We would neither of us leave you, Inquisitor. Not until we have seen this through. We owe as much to Justinia, as well as to you.”

“I would support either of you, for Divine. I don’t know now that I am going to be able to make a choice,” Trevelyan said honestly.

Leliana brushed her hood back and ran her hands through her flame red hair. “We have plenty of time for that. I don’t know that either of us had truly considered it, before Giselle presented us with the letters. I believe we will both need time for reflection.”

“Indeed,” Trevelyan said. She hadn’t been given much of a choice, when it came to the Anchor and becoming the Herald of Andraste. She would give them both time. She would take her time considering both of them as well. She’d never thought about them as Divine, nor what characteristics would be needed for a Divine that followed this kind of chaos.

“Inquisitor,” Leliana said hesitantly, “We have been hearing rumors that Vivienne has quietly reached out to certain nobles and Mothers to put people in place. She is setting the springs for something, but I cannot learn whether it is for the Circle or the Chantry. It is also something to consider.”

“Vivienne is a powerful ally, both on the battlefield and in the Orlesian court. However, I must watch her. Her motives are her own and may not be best for Thedas, in the long run. Cullen may say her views on Templars are refreshingly traditional, but I am not sure looking backwards ever does anyone any good,” Trevelyan mused to her advisors.

“Just so,” Leliana agreed. “I too, will keep an eye on her, for the time being.”

“Thank you, ladies, for the work that you do. I believe we are to meet again tonight, in the War Room?”

Cassandra nodded. “Yes, we will all be there - companions, advisors - all of us. Cullen has even asked Fiona to attend, given her history with the Wardens. Morrigan too, since she fought with the Hero in the Fifth Blight. We need all the information we can collect.”

“Yes, Fiona is a good idea. All of my contacts within the Order, excepting the King of Ferelden, have been silent since before the Conclave. It has been unnerving,” Leliana added. “Morrigan is an odd choice, but the Commander knows his business. Blackwall does seem quite out of touch with the Wardens.”

Trevelyan rubbed at the furrows between her eyebrows; they’d seemed to deepen, as of late. “I will save it for the meeting, but the Wardens have shown themselves to be a huge liability. They will need to be dealt with, and soon.”

Cassandra stood, “Come now, Trevelyan, you need a break and some quiet time with the Beast before tonight’s meeting.”

Leliana too, rose from the couch. “Your Grim has made a new friend, I hear. Kieran Morrigan’s son has been a frequent visitor. The two met when Grim was returning from the valley camp. Kieran was sitting on the kitchen steps reading and eating an apple. Grim just wandered over and stole his apple. They were fast friends before the grooms could stop it. Dennet has been glad of the boy. Grim does not fuss so much when Kieran leads him about. Morrigan tried to stop it, but the boy assured her the horse was gentle. At least for him. She seemed pleased, for once. Perhaps she might finally allow him to take riding lessons, though not on Grim.”

“If it please you, Vella, I can have some fine ponies sent from Ostwick,” Elswyth said from her spot near the fire. “ She’d moved a needlepoint frame there, along with a pair of comfortable chairs, some small tables, and a tufted leather footstool since Vella’s departure for the Western Approach, just as she’d added the little table and extra chairs near the couch. At a few touches, Elswyth had transformed the tower room into a refuge for Vella and her friends. “A boy with a baring like that deserves a handsome mount,” she said as she made a neat stitch, “and ponies are need for carts in camp as well.”

Vella thought for a moment. “Do you think we could find Vimmark Fell Ponies?”

Elswyth nodded. “I believe we could, Vella. May I use your own name?”

“Yes, do,” she said. “I have a feeling that Morrigan is more easily pleased through her son than by anything for herself.”

“She has changed, Inquisitor,” Leliana said. “She used to say things to people just to be cruel. Now she’s almost nice. The boy, too is quite charming, though that is less of a surprise, considering.”

Trevelyan had a feeling there was more to Leliana’s comment, but that she’d caught herself and was too good a courtier to let on very much. It left Trevelyan wondering what Leliana was going to say, but she let it go. “It is settled then, the little lord shall have a fine stout pony and quality tack to match. Nothing too fancy, though,” Trevelyan said. “And the camps can use the others for cart ponies, when needed.”

“Very good, Vella. I shall send the raven now. Should we all walk out together?”

The ladies left the Inquisitor’s quarters, but Cassandra caught her just before they reached the Great Hall. “You and the Commander, things are well, I hope?”

“I am forgiven, Cass, and we are well, thanks to you, no doubt,” Vella said to her friend.

“Good. The two of you together gives strength to us all, my friend,” Cassandra said, touching Trevelyan’s shoulder.

***

Trevelyan skipped down the steps and through the lower courtyard, but stopped dead at the door to the stables.Kieran was draped along Grim’s back, a leg on both sides, one hand wrapped in the tangles of the stud’s mane, the other holding up a book that he was reading out loud to the horse. Grim’s ears telegraphed his interest, even as his body language was relaxed.

Trevelyan whispered, “Hello boys,” so as to startle neither boy nor beast.

Grim gave her his deep nicker, and Kieran said, “Oh, hullo Inquisitor. Grim and I were just reading _Legends of the Free Marches_. I brought it with me from Orlais. Mother says most of them are nonsense, but Grim disagrees.”

Grim nickered again, and the boy slid down from his perch on the Ei’Hearna’s back and slipped out of the stall. Grim snorted and stomped. “Grim says that Ei’Hearna are descended from a Bog Unicorn and some Amaranthine Chargers that washed up after a stormy shipwreck off of the Ostwick beaches, and that that is why they are all black or grey and unusually bad tempered. All the Ei’Hearna share the pain of the sword in the Bog Unicorn’s head.”

Trevelyan began to rub Grim’s neck. “Is that so? Grim never said that much to me.”

Kieran nodded gravely. “Yes. He wouldn’t speak to me at first either. I had to bring him a bran muffin and some sugar cubes, as an offering.” Kieran scratched under Grim’s chin. “Master Dennet let me in because Grim stopped attacking the grooms, once I started stopping by with the treats. Grim looked really bored one day, so after I brushed him I started reading him my book. That’s when he got really chatty. We’re going to start one of Varric’s novels next, or maybe a book on history.”

“Well, you could borrow books from the Skyhold library, if you’ll be careful with them.” She crooned to the big stud in Ostwick, admonishing him for leading the boy on, but asking Grim to keep him safe. Grim exhaled, his lips smacking comically.

Kieran grinned. “Grim said you’d say that. He said he will, and he loves you very much.You know, he only tolerates Dennet and the grooms because they feed him and you told him to be good.”

Trevelyan was astonished; she would have to ask Morrigan if they spoke Ostwick. “Grim can be quite the grump. Took a big bite of one of the head grooms at the Conclave. Broke the poor man’s arm. I let him wander the hills after that. Good thing too, because it’s the only reason he wasn’t killed in the blast with the rest of the horses.”

Grim nudged the boy with his head. “Well,” said Kieran cautiously, “that groom was beating the stable elves for every offense. He was beating one when Grim bit him. He’s glad you let him roam after that, or he would have killed the groom. Those elves were good with the horses. They sang beautiful songs.”

Trevelyan blinked, and recalled the groom in question. She hadn’t liked the look of him either, and had been uncharacteristically unsympathetic when Grim broke his arm. “Is there anything else I should know about Grim here, while we’re talking?”

Grim squealed and kicked his stall. “He likes that Commander Cullen. The Commander also brings him treats in the afternoons when you aren’t here and leave Grim behind. Grim says you should let the Commander ride him. It would make them both happy, when you are gone away.”

Trevelyan scratched under Grim’s jawbone. “Very well then, I’ll ask Cullen to ride Grim, when I am gone. I do want to make my boys happy.”

Grim nickered.

Kieran patted him, then tucked his book under his arm and started to walk out of the stables. “I should get back to my mother. She worries all the time.”

“Kieran,” the Inquisitor called. “Have you met Dorian Pavus, or Grand Enchanter Fiona yet?

“I have met Dorian, Inquisitor, but not the Grand Enchanter. Mother says to be careful around Circle mages. They don’t often like mages who were raised outside of the Circle.”

“Your mother’s advice is very wise. I will speak to her about introducing you to them myself. If nothing else, they could help you pick out books from the Skyhold library, as can Dame Elswyth. I don’t think Grim is old enough for Varric’s works.” Trevelyan walked to the door of the stables, and waited for the boy’s decision.

“Yes, please, Inquisitor,” he grinned at her. “Your library is full of history.”

Trevelyan held out her hand to Kieran. “Come then, let us speak to your mother.”

***

“And you are sure he will not be an annoyance, Inquisitor?” Morrigan asked as the two women looked out over the cloister from the balcony near Morrigan’s quarters. Kieran was below, helping plant the new felandaris seeds. It had been a distraction so the women could talk.

Trevelyan waived a hand, “Should either of them appear uninterested, Dame Elswyth won’t mind. He’s been a polite child, and we’ve herds of them at home.It’s one of her roles at my own keep, too.”

Morrigan turned to fully face Trevelyan. “What is it you want, really, Inquisitor? I have already agreed to help the Inquisition. I would break no faith with you, nor the Inquisition.”

“Morrigan,” she said gently, “your son is so lonely he’s been reading to my horse. I’m trying to give him something to do, maybe introduce him to some friends in the castle, some children in the camps. I know you know how to teach him magic, should it manifest. You yourself were raised away from the world, as a hedge witch. Yet you chose to take him to the Orlesian Court, of all places. You would teach him the ways of the world, or am I wrong?”

“I would not have him raised in a marsh, away from people and life, ‘tis true. It is my wish he know all of the world. Or at least as much as I have access to, since we are always together,” Morrigan said. “I would never willfully do him harm, Inquisitor. Given my past, I fear that any harm that may come to him would be my own doing.” Morrigan wiped her bangs back behind her ear before she asked, “You have many siblings, much experience with children?”

“I do have experience with children, yes. Our courts are overrun with children in Ostwick and Ballie Na Leannan. Singletons may have peace, and the best of their parents attention, but I worry they miss out on the wild fun of the constant presence of people near their own age,” Trevelyan said. “Forgive me if I overstep.”

Morrigan crossed her arms and looked up at the sky. “Your kindness surprises me, Inquisitor, though it shouldn’t. You welcomed us here from the first. You may make arrangements for my son, as you please, so long as I am made aware of them. He may meet any mage or master you think worthy. He may play in the camps, but he must return here to the castle each night, for his safety.”

“These seem fair requests,” Trevelyan nodded. After a moment she asked, “What do you make of Commander Cullen, or the other templars?”

Morrigan gave the Inquisitor a knowing half smile. “He is much changed since Kinloch, Inquisitor, and all for the better. From what I’ve seen he’s taken pains to cultivate good relations with the mages and Templars here. I know he’s been kind to Kieran already. They both like your grey beast, it seems. Kieran should learn to use a sword and shield, as well as a staff. Is the Commander on offer, as a tutor?”

“I wasn't sure if you’d met, all those years ago at Kinloch. The Commander is better, as he is now. And busy, so I can make no promises for him in his freetime. But I will speak with him, if it means that much to you. Or to Kieran.”

“Kieran has always wanted to learn swordplay,” Morrigan replied. An odd expression passed across Morrigan’s usually dispassionate face. To Trevelyan it seemed affection and regret and resolution all at once.

“Kieran’s father was extremely good with a sword. Kieran should have the chance to learn what gifts his blood has given him. If he is remarkable in anyway, t’will be his father’s doing, and not mine. To me he is just a boy, my boy, and I love him. I never expected motherhood to change me so much. My own mother left a great deal to be desired.”

Taken aback at Morrigan’s openness, Trevelyan didn’t answer at first, and then just softly. “I will see what I can do. Skyhold is my home, just as Ballie Na Leannan is my home; I would see that your son is happy. Now I can, with your permission.”

Like before, at Morrigan’s welcome, the two women shared a rare moment of understanding.

Morrigan rubbed her hand along the stones of the balcony wall, as if taking its measure. “To think, this place stood empty and decrepit for ages upon ages, when once it had been a place of great importance to elves and to humans. What must Skyhold make of us? Of the events that shake the world now? Does it wonder what events will come again to its walls?”

Trevelyan was happy to let the subject change. “Do you know much about Skyhold? I know you have vast knowledge of lore and magic here in Ferelden.”

Morrigan nodded. “My mother saw to it that I know Ferelden well. Your castle, to the elves it was _Tarasyl’an_ \- the place where the sky is kept. ‘Tis said from here they reached up to the heavens to bring them down to rest. To the humans it was no less auspicious. Still, both abandoned it, in the end. Until you came here.”

Until Solas gave it to me, Trevelyan thought. “It was lucky we found this place, when we did. Wandering in the mountains with dwindling supplies was no pleasure, I can assure you. I have come to love it’s old walls, ruined and rugged alike. Skyhold speaks to me as home almost as much as my keep in the Vimmarks. ”

“Fate is often mistaken for luck, or so my mother is fond of saying,” Morrigan said with rueful humor. “Perhaps you were meant to make it your own. Those that abandoned it didn’t know what they had in Skyhold. Ancient magic has seeped into the stones, protecting it and those inside of it from darkness. You, I think, shall do it justice.”

“May it be so, Morrigan, may it be just as you said,” Trevelyan replied. She noticed how low the sun was hanging in the sky. “Come now, Morrigan. We must attend our meeting.”

***

“The demons then tore themselves out of the pools of warrior blood,” Blackwall said, finishing up his account of the events at the watchtower, “ready to do the bidding of the mages and the Venatori.”

“It was the most frightening thing I’ve ever seen,” Sera said. “Seemed like, it was twisted, a twisted,” she searched for words.

“A twisted version of birth. The life force of the Warden Warrior given over to rage or despair as they died,” Fiona finished for her. “Pulling demons from the Fade is always like that - what makes these more horrific is that the Warden mages did it to their brethren. I knew Wardens were single minded, but this is something else.”

“It is the fear of the Calling. It has made them desperate,” Leliana said.

The advisors, companions, and additional experts took in the information. The feeling in the War Council chambers was more solemn than any day since the fall of Haven. It was one thing to know the demon army was coming, and entirely another to be facing down its creation.

Cullen broke the silence. “Stroud and Hawke have not yet returned, but they have sent several reports via raven. Upon arrival at Adamant, they reported a few Grey Wardens at first, but that the numbers were growing every few days, and from different parts of Thedas, as if Clarel was spreading out the orders to join them at Adamant to reduce suspicion.”

“It is almost like what Lucius did with the Seekers, calling them in little by little, keeping things quiet until it is too late,” Cassandra said angrily.

“And Alexius with the mages in Redcliffe,” Fiona agreed. “It seems to be the way of the Venatori, this slow infection.”

“Whoever makes the decisions is certainly of a subtle mind, but Adamant is a fortress, like so many before it. We must focus our energy there,” Leliana said forcefully.

Cullen stood and unrolled an unfinished sketch of a fortress out onto the table. “This is our preliminary understanding of Adamant fortress. It’s dwarven built, from jetstone, with metal ramparts. The drawing isrough estimates on size and wall depth based on Stroud and Hawke’s information. Some Grey Warden maps and histories were - liberated - from Vigil’s Keep, the Grey Warden stronghold in Ferelden. Elswyth’s team worked tirelessly to make sense of the several languages and added as much detail as they could with the time they had been given. We have already sent scouts and cartographers to the Approach to improve upon this information.”Cullen gestured to a bin of scrolls, “This is the report of Knight-General Rylan in Orlais, along with all the information he used to create it. He tells me our wagons and horses don’t handle the sand well, so that supply lines and troop movements are slow and unpredictable - especially when adding in hot, dry weather and a delightful new problem he tells me the locals call ‘sand storms,” which remake the dunes and landmarks with regularity, making land maps near useless. They can also bury entire caravans in hours and days.” He let that sink in for a moment before continuing.

“I believe we have a fix for the horses, thanks to Josephine and local nobility; she believes Orlais will be able to provide more support as the Civil War has been resolved, but they are currently disorganized.Either way, we will need adjustments to our gear and materiel - the soldiers have been overheating, the food spoiling, the sand gumming up the axels making it impossible the wheels to turn, the wheels themselves sinking into the sand due to weight. This means moving our trebuchets from their current locations to Adamant is a non-starter. We must build them in the Approach, along with any other siege engines or towers, into place from as short a distance as possible. All this while staying watered, supplied, and mostly unnoticed in the desert. Fortunately, the Wardens and Venatori also face the same challenges. We will be able to use this against them.”

“My people have begun planning a campaign to keep the Wardens who have not yet left their posts and citadels busy chasing false reports of darkspawn. We hope to delay their departures for Adamant, and harass them as they travel,” Leliana said. “Let us hope they remember the darkspawn are their true enemy. We will also capture and take into custody any bands of Wardens small enough in number, placing them into the care of local mayors or Chantries where possible. We will give as few Wardens as we can to this Venatori demon army.”

“These actions may frighten the west into thinking a new Blight is coming, but we believe it is necessary to the success of the overall campaign,” Cassandra added.

Cole took off his hat, and stepped into the light of the candles. “You should call on the mage Rhys and Knight-Captain Evangeline. They have been inside Adamant. I have been inside Adamant, but I would not trust my memories. I was different then. I have changed for the better, but I don’t know how much was Adamant and how much was something else. The Veil is very thin there.”

“I shall send orders after this meeting Cole,” Cullen said. “Both of your friends could give us valuable insights.”Cole nodded and faded back into the shadows of the room. 

“Wonderful,” Vivienne said. “Now we’re taking advice on fighting a demon army from a demon.”

“Cole is not a demon,” Cullen replied with agitation. “He is something else - a spirit, most clearly - but not a demon. They feel different - malevolent or hungry or angry and frustrated. They want something from us, Vivienne, usually our lives and souls. Cole only wants to give aide, comfort, freedom. He gives selflessly of his skills and learns from his mistakes. I know you’ve fought demons, but have you ever felt them? Ever tried to pinpoint the moment a mage becomes an abomination or if a human is truly possessed or if one good dispel will save them?”

“Not so much, no,” she admitted.

“Well then leave this decision with me,” he barked.

“Inquisition,” Trevelyan said, quickly stepping into the tiff, “this meeting is for open discussion with all ideas given full consideration. No idea is too ludicrous or far-fetched or based on random ancient lore. The advisors and I will make final decisions as we usually do, but we want to hear it all. You never know where new connections or ideas will come from; the fortress is but one part of the problem. We need to figure out how to hide in a desert, how to move across sand, how to feed a marching army. The list goes on. Let us focus on that, please.”

There was some murmuring, but everyone seemed to agree. The meeting continued well past dinner, and though tiring, resulted in a list of avenues and investigations that gave them employment on the morrow, which quieted their spirits, even if it didn’t lift them.

***

After the meeting, Trevelyan and Elswyth returned to the the tower quarters; they had weeks of Trevelyan’s personal correspondence to discuss, among other issues, and as always, Vella needed a bath.

As she sat by the fire in her cashmere pyjamas and robe drying her hair, Vella read the most recent letter from Ballie Na Leannan. “Dryw says the goats and sheep are well, as are all the villages and clans. Nothing of import from home,” Trevelyan said as she finished her brother’s letter. Elswyth read the letters and responded in Trevelyan’s name when necessary, but Vella still liked to catch up on the news herself.

“Make sure you read the one from Ianto. His children are giving him trouble,” Elswyth said.

“As all proper Nicnavin will,” Vella replied with humor.

“Joke if you must, young lady, but your niece is playing with fire,” Elswyth admonished. “And the teryn that will be must get more serious with his studies or shame us all.”

“You worry too much, Elswyth,” Vella answered. “Though speaking of studies, have you come across any mention of Skyhold? Morrigan tells me it was called _Tarasyl’an_ by the elves. The place where the sky is kept. Revered, at its beginning, and a place of safety, but then abandoned.”

“She is partly right,” Elwyth agreed, “But the full name is _Tarasyl’an Telas_. Solas says it is more rightly as ‘the place where the sky was held back,’ but perhaps an even better translation would be ‘the place where the heavens rise on the breath of hope.’

“‘Where the heavens rise on the breath of hope’,” Vella repeated. “How lovely. Certainly more poetic than Skyhold.”

“But Skyhold is so straight forward, is it not?” Elswyth teased. “Just feels more Fereldan - Skyhold - I like its forthrightness.” Elswyth turned to the stairs, hearing a step upon them at this late hour. “Wouldn’t you say, Commander, that Fereldans are a plainspoken people, and rather prone to an appreciation for bluntness?”

Cullen bowed to Elswyth as he mounted the last stair.“Plainspoken, of course, Dame Elswyth. Though we aspire less to blunt than to candid.” Trevelyan went to him, and they embraced, the full body touch of lovers long parted. They kissed too, but softly in front of Elswyth. Neither made a move to part as he said, “And brevity in all things but love.”

Elswyth stood and gestured to her chair, “Come Commander, this is your chair. I am due to my own bed, as it happens.” She moved the needlepoint frame away to a corner, and with a kiss to Trevelyan, was gone.

They kissed in earnest then, and not briefly, before he broke the kiss. “I have a great favor to ask, a rather daring one.”

“Hmm,” she said. “Sounds delicious, Cullen. Ask away.”

“Brycen arrived yesterday, and Rylen not an hour ago. That’s what kept me, report with my Knights-General. They are, together, and hadn’t seen each other in months. I gave them my quarters for the night, and now find myself homeless. Might I find a spot here? Just to sleep? We have managed it before,” Cullen asked, searching her face for her response. “Unless you think it’s inappropriate.”

Trevelyan kissed him, “Stay with me! Absolutely! Ijust want you in my arms. We are too soon made up to be in the same place and yet still apart.”

Cullen kissed her again. “Good.”

“Are you tired?” she asked, pulling him to the chairs by the fire. He sat and removed his gauntlets and gloves.

“When am I not?” he answered with a sigh.

“Drink?” she asked as she poured one for herself.

“Have you any of that lovely whiskey?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said as she pulled the cork from the bottle of Mackay’s Single Malt and poured his glass.

They drank in companionable silence, enjoying the fire. Cullen soon began to nod.

She went to her knees in front of him, and touched him gently. “Cullen, we should go to bed. Have you anything to sleep in?” she asked. “You cannot rest in plate mail and leather.”

He blinked at her. “Maker, Herald. I hadn’t thought that far,” he said, turning bright pink.

“I have just the thing,” she said, and moving to her wardrobe pulled a long cotton flannel night shirt from the bottom drawer. “I wore it at Satinalia, and we managed to behave then. Seems good luck.”

He smiled, thinking of the first time they shared a bed. “Sounds perfect.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	39. Madness Most Discreet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an ever expanding cast of characters, Brycen and Rylen explore their connection. ** M/M sexual situations **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first attempt at anything not M/F so if I got stuff wrong, PLEASE enlighten me. The guys just wanted to have a little fun, and it seemed the other chapter wasn't going anywhere until I got this out of my brain.
> 
> A few subtle words:
> 
> Serah is an in-game form of address from peer to peer, as compared to ser or messere which usually would be lower status to higher status.

***

“Are you alright?” Brycen asked from where he lay, half covered with sheets and blankets, sketching in his leather bound notebook. He was naked, his muscular chest graced with fine black hair that called the eye downwards suggestively. He swept his longish wavy hair off his face and frowned at his bedmate.

Rylan sat at the edge, also naked, just staring into space. “None of the mages are unhappy or about to be Harrowed. Sure, we’re facing a great challenge in the west, but we closed the Breach. I’d say that gives us better than even odds. Last night I slept in your arms; even my dreams are softer here.I - I might be happy.”

“So then why that look? In this moment, I am about as happy as a man can be, why should you not also be so?” Brycen said as he returned to his sketching.

“Because I can never not be looking ahead. You have letters again. And you’re drawing again. You write to a woman. Several women. Though I have no right to notice nor comment, truly.” Rylen turned back into the bed so that he was facing Brycen, but still had one foot on the floor. The position forced his body into graceful lines for such a powerfully built man; toes to hip, chest to shoulders, head bowed, not looking at his companion; in his rude symmetry there was the beauty of service.

Brycen continued to draw. “You write to a woman too, serah.”

“My mother,” Rylen answered.

“Is it not possible that I too, have a mother?”

“How many mothers can one man have?” Rylen said grumpily.

Brycen leaned toward Rylen, his handsome features crinkled with concern. In the candlelight, grey hair glittered among the black, and the lines of his face were more set than Rylen’s, but Brycen was still the prettier of the two. A small smile passed over his features, which he hid from his friend. “I am ready to hear whatever you have to say, Rye.”

“Our meeting today - I’m leaving for the Approach soon. The Inquisitor must take Griffon Wing Keep, and I must take command of it after that. We need it for Adamant and the battle that looms. I could be in the West for some time. I could die. I don’t want to leave you with things left unsaid,” Rylen murmured, still not looking up. “This, we have passed much time together, much pleasant time. Happy as I am, I know it can’t last. I just wanted you to know I understand - I know you’re above me.”

“What foolishness is this?” Brycen said in surprise. “Commander Cullen has given you preferment, Rye, trusts you more. We both know it. We have the same title, but you’re clearly second in command. You outrank me. You should be proud. Second in command of the largest army this world has known in some time.” Brycen ran his hand up Rylen’s shoulder and took his cheek, making him look up so he could smile at the younger man.

Rylen grinned sheepishly at the compliments.“Not that. I mean even if we survive, we can’t be together. You’ve a House to serve, a family name. I know you do, even though you try to hide it. You’ve a tell - or rather two. The first is your writing script.”

“I use the Templar block script, same as you,” Brycen said returning to his drawing. “You read it often enough to know.”

“In your letters to me, and in official correspondence, but not in your private letters. My father was a mason, a literate man by all standards, but he wrote for clarity, like the Templars. You have a very fine script for your letters, where the words all run together like sewing. That’s a lord’s hand, Brycen.”

Brycen flipped the page in his pad and made a curly-cue and a pretty squiggle down the paper. “I can draw, as you see. It’s not so hard to go from drawing swirls to writing them. You worry over trifles when you’re better off taking your pleasure in this, in us. The Commander may love you for your brain, but for my part, you think too much. You’ll wear that beautiful brain out.”

Rylen gave Brycen a sad smile. “The Commander favors me because I think. I should worry that you tell me not to do it, _my lord_.”

“You mistake me. Your mind is a gift. Those that would love you should mark it well,” Brycen offered. “But you overtax it with nonsense rather than shut it off and rest. The Commander gave us his room so we could sleep - gave us his own bed to share. He’s telling us to relax and enjoy. We’ve meetings enough today, and more over the next few days - why add more worry? And you do call me wrong. I am no lord. What other evidence have you of my birth? Your beautiful brain and brawn notwithstanding, this adventure amuses me. You said I have two tells and you’ve only given one. Now give me the other.”

“I will share my thinking with you, though you tease me,” Rylen said, running a hand over the messy cheek-length curls on Brycen’s head, the curls that stood in contrast to his own close-cropped brown hair. “This head of hair, _m’ lord_. The lot of us soldiers and Templars have cropped hair - even the Commander - but you keep yours like the knights of the Inquisitor’s home court, the ones who came with Elswyth. Also like the minor nobles Ambassador Josephine employs here at the castle. It’s like you’ve never even worried about vermin.”

This made Brycen laugh. “I can’t say that vermin have ever been one of my concerns, no,” and with that he kissed Rylen with good humor. “Cullen’s hair is longer than you think, dear boy. He’s just better about minding his curls,” Brycen said, running his fingers through his own. Rylen’s eyes tracked his every move as Brycen showed off his gorgeous chest and hair a bit for his bed mate’s pleasure; Brycen thought maybe he caught his partner in a little sigh.

Brycen remembered thirty, how easy it was then to lose oneself in a lover. After all his years in the Templars, it was still easy to do at forty. But somehow it was becoming more and more hollow, like food that filled but didn’t satisfy. He could understand Cullen’s choice not to partake in meditations - odd little euphemism - Eyre Anwyn Trevelyan could turn the head of a god, so why should young Commander Cullen find her any less distracting? Maybe, like Cullen, Brycen himself should try for finding rather than losing, truth be told. “What if I do have a House, as you say? I am a Templar, and now Inquisition, same as you. I have taken the same vows you have, and will seek no wealth nor recognition. I live my life in service to the Maker.”

“You can’t fool me, Highlander,” Rylen said. “Ostwick and Starkhaven have their differences, but they’re not that far apart, highlanders and lowlanders. We had a few noble Templars in Starkhaven. Your House will arrange for you a noble wife, soon as the war’s done. I’ve seen it before. Wealthy ladies who don’t need taking care of but want noble names and noble children. It looks like you’ve a stable of fillies, waiting on you.”

His attempts at deflection ignored, Brycen put down his pencil and closed his book over it. He slid up to Rylen and pulled him back into the bed so that they lay close together, their heads on the pillows, looking up at the Commander’s patchy ceiling. “What is the meaning of this melancholy? Jealousy doesn’t become you,” Brycen commented as he leaned over and kissed Rylen again, this time with tenderness rather than humor.

Rylen frowned and looked away. “I’m sorry. I’m not supposed to be like this, am I? I’ve been a Templar these fifteen years. I know how this works. Having sex to burn off the excess lyrium or negative emotions is one thing, but behaving like a besotted recruit after some amazing shagging is entirely another.”

“Besotted are we?” Brycen said softly as he ran his hands over Rylen’s chest and shoulder to soothe him. “Never be sorry, my friend. Templars lead strange lives, lyrium or no. Our faith demanded service to the Maker, but he doesn’t require we give up living. Mind-bending sex is nothing to dismiss. I feel it too, a connection at our most essential level.My gran used to say be happy now, as death lasts a long time. So for now, I choose to spend my time with you, being happy. Perhaps I too, am besotted.”

Rylen brushed his knuckles over Brycen’s stubble. “You’ve been with Gervais and Lysette since Satinalia. Mattrin, too.”

“As have you, I might observe,” Brycen teased. “We are none of us monogamous. Though you are the only one I’ve shared a bed with like this.” Brycen ran his hand up Rylen’s chiseled chest, up over his close-cropped hair. “I keep returning to you, Rye.”

“And I to you,” Rylen said, tracing his fingers along the top of Brycen’s thigh.

Every time they were together they distracted themselves with sex and when they were apart they wrote about the important things. Brycen’s cock stirred at the gentle caresses, but he knew they should finish their talk.“So you leave for the Approach, and we face a demon army. You’re worried about our stations, our fidelity, or lack thereof.” Brycen bit his lip as he looked at the man at his side. “Are we finally speaking of the things we try to ignore?” he asked.

Rylen flopped on his back and covered his eyes before he spoke. “I don’t know what closeness this is between us, but I don’t want to lose it, or lose you. Death is one thing - but there are other ways to lose a person. There’s more I should know about you, Brycen. Like your name, for a start.”

Brycen pulled Rylen’s hand away from his face. “Give me your birth name and circumstances, serah, so that I can give you mine. Though pain may come too, I will tell you what you need to know so that I can, in the end, set you at ease, come what may in the West.”

Rylen rolled to look at Brycen’s face and body. “I am Rylen Mason, fifth child of John Mason, freemason of Starkhaven, guildmaster, and his goodwife, Jane,” he said, not meeting Brycen’s eye, but no longer hiding. “I am Ser Rylen of the Templar Order, an officer of the Inquisition.”

“Well met, Rylen Mason. I am called Idhon Brycen of Brynengel, second child of the Much Honored Jones and Siwen Brycen, Laird and Lady of Brynengel. Since my father’s death four years ago, my older sister, Arethusa, has been Lady of Brynengel. I was anointed Ser Idhon, Knight of the Rowan Tree, for my service to the chief of my mother’s clan before I joined the Order. I serve the same Great House as my family always has, as vassal and warrior. It is the only title I have other than my Templar knighthood, where I am called Ser Brycen. Your lovely brain was not entirely wrong; not a lord, but a Ser in my own right. Hardly any different than a Templar officer, like you.”

Rylen teared up at this news. “A noble is a noble. Even the most minor are far from the quarries.” Pushing his palms across his eyes to wipe away the salty drops, he sighed. “And the rest?”

Brycen kissed Rylen’s shoulder before rolling half over him, thigh over thigh, pinning Rylen’s lower half to the bed with his weight. “We do have a future, if you want one, _macushla_ , when I am done explaining. If we should ever have leave, you will be welcome in my lands, my home. Rowntree is small, but it holds everything I love. I would show it to you.”

They kissed, Rylen running one hand into Brycen’s long hair and the other down over his muscular back and thighs. They could feel their slowly engorging cocks rubbing against each other.

“ _Macushla_ , hmm?” Rylan said as Brycen nipped at his ear. “How will your future wife feel about me being the _pulse of your heart?_ ”

Brycen cursed softly in Ostwick. “I forget Starkhaveners share this language,” he said with a wry grin. Slowly, Brycen caught up both of Rylen’s wrists and pinned them to the bed before he continued, “I will have no future wife. I have had a wife these twenty-two years, and she is already pleased for me. The women I write, my women, are my mother, my sister, my wife, and my three daughters.”

Rylen tried to get out of the bed, fought to get out from under Brycen’s weight, but there was no will in him. His tears prevented any real violence between the two warriors.

Brycen shushed Rylen’s sorrow, kissing his tears, stroking and touching him everywhere he could reach before he continued. “Rye, please listen; don’t just hear me. Listen.I always wanted to be a Templar, but I also had a duty to my family, as my wife Tamzin did to hers. Tamzin and I grew up together. Once she knew she preferred women, we made a plan. We were wedded and bedded just before I took my final vows at the Invermarkton Chantry in Ostwick. In the years I was in service at Invermarkton, I gave Tamzin two noble daughters, and then I left for the Hasmal Circle. We share our girls, our long friendship, but we have not shared a bed since Afton was conceived, these 17 summers. That place is taken by her true love, Alagosil, a wee tempest of a woman. My bed is my own business. Beyond the Templars, I’ve had other discreet lovers at home. My youngest daughter is not yet 15 summers. Her mother and I were bound for a time, but no more. My lineage is old and much sought after in parts of the Vimmarks. I may father more children, as the Maker wishes, but I make no plans. I try not to think about it too much.”

Brycen wiped at Rylen’s tears, traced his tattoos, “We all have our our stories, Rye. Now you know my most precious confidences. My daughters, Raeburn, Afton, and Feriel are my lady loves, and will be until death or lyrium takes me. They have seen your likeness in my drawings. They know about you, all of them, Ser Rylen Mason.”

Rylen finally looked Brycen in the eyes. “They know about me? Your wife and mother, too?”

“Ay, they all know. They know you bring me joy and peace with your companionship. About your leaving for the West, they know I am frightened for you, and my heart. Prayers are already sung, in the Chantry at Brynengel and the chapel at Rowntree, for your safety and mine. Forgive me from keeping this secret from you, but you never before wanted to speak of such things.”

“I was afraid to speak before, Brycen, because of my worries about your family. We’ve been together a handful of times. We work with the Frostbacks between us. I didn’t want to make more of this than I should have.”

“Make all you want of it. I want more of you, now and in the future, if you’ll allow,” the last words were a whisper as Brycen began to stroke Rylen’s balls and pulsing member.

Rylen responded to Brycen’s caresses by shifting to give his bedmate better access to his body. He relaxed a little. “Do as you will, Lordling.”

Brycen rubbed the growing length of Rylen’s manhood. “Please forgive my secret keeping. Say it is so.”

“Mmm-aker,” Rylen whispered as Brycen fondled him. “Forgiven, you’re forgiven. And here I was afraid you’d be offended and never touch me again.”Rylen flexed his hips, thrusting his hardening cock through Brycen’s loosely closed fist. “Afraid I meant nothing but a body to you, just some peasant to take your lyrium mania.”

They kissed again, Brycen reacting to Rylen’s thrusts with a moan. “You are far from nothing, _macushla_ ,” he stopped to slide Rylen’s bulbous cockhead out of his foreskin, then ran the tip of his tongue over it, making Rylen hiss and shudder under him. He sucked on his balls before licking a wet line back up to the cockhead. Just when he heard his lover’s breath change, Brycen stopped licking and sat up a little. “Satinalia was astonishingly hot, and since then your humor and camaraderie have been my balm. As an officer, and as a man, you please me. Please let me please you,” he whispered, then took Rylen deep into his throat.

Rylen gasped at his actions. Brycen took advantage of this, pushing him over slightly and raising Rylen’s leg a little. As they kissed and gazed at each other, Brycen ran his hand over his own sex, collecting slippery precum on his longest fingertip. Soon he began to run that finger around Rylen’s dark star, warming and teasing the nerves there, making the younger man gasp.

“Flaming pyres, Brycen. I want you inside me, but we’ve never done that without lyrium,” Rylen’s voice was ragged and breathy. “I’ve never done that without lyrium.”

Brycen continued to tease his ass. “You’ve never done this sober?”

Rylen flexed his bottom, squeezing Brycen’s long fingers against him. “Not back there, no. I tried, but it didn’t feel good without the lyrium high.”

“Then we should both thank Dame Elswyth for her discreet gift,” Brycen said, getting up from the bed and retrieving the small box she had given him just before his meeting with Cullen. He brought it back to the bed and set it next to Rylen.

The box was black lacquer with a pink elephant sketched across the top. “What is this?”

“Do you know the mark?” Brycen asked. “From Wycombe?”

“No. I’d never been out of Starkhaven before I joined Commander Cullen in Kirkwall. I’ve been more places in the South than I have in the Marches. My father built and repaired Chantries. Starkhaven kept us busy enough.”

“Hmm, well then let me enlighten you,” Brycen said as he slid the top off of the box. Inside was a fat glass bottle, almost like a teapot, with stoppers in the spout and at the top. Inside was a clear liquid that moved with syrupy slowness against the glass. “ _L’Oliphant Rose_ is a house of courtesans from Wycombe. They make this for their personal use, and sometimes they sell it. It’s called _illinítë_ , and is a very rare unction, as it is extremely difficult to make.”

“And what is it for?” Rylen asked as Brycen unstoppered the bottle and poured some onto his fingers.

Brycen smiled at him and set the bottle safely to the side. He moved to lie so that he was between Rylen’s legs again, then rubbed his slippery fingers over Rylen’s opening. Brycen used his other hand to begin stroking Rylen’s half-hard cock. “Among other things, it’s so we can do this,” he whispered, sliding one long finger into his lover’s back passage, “without lyrium.”

Rylen moaned softly, “Oh, that’s so good! So, so good.”He shifted his legs open to give more access and relaxed into Brycen’s touch. Eventually Brycen was able to add another finger. Rylen grasped Brycen’s shoulder, “Slower, longer, but don’t stop.”

Brycen was only too happy to comply, it gave him a chance to watch his lover’s face, to learn him awake and not at the whim of lyrium. He’d never noticed how lucious Rylen’s lips were, nor how long and fine his eye lashes. A rosie blush came to Rylen’s bulging muscles, and he started to fist the sheets to help him rock against Brycen’s fingers.

Brycen let go of Rylen’s hard cock and started stroking his own in time to the fingers going in and out of Rylen’s slippery hole. Soon he said, “Rye, I need you. Do you feel ready?”

“Pyres, yes. It’s different this way, without lyrium, but I like it,” Rylen said as he gazed at his partner. Rylen reached out for Brycen, pulsing his hand around Brycen’s cock, spreading his drooling seed along the head and shaft. “I want you inside me, just us and not lyrium.”

Brycen growled and retrieved the small bottle, putting a little on Rylen’s palm. Rye slid his hand over Brycen’s hardness, making him slick and ready. Then he guided Brycen’s sleek manhood to his passage.

Brycen replaced his fingers with the head of his cock and shifted so his weight pushed him into Rylen slowly. “Gah, still so tight, Rye,” he hissed and stopped for a moment. “Are you - so good - are you ok?” Brycen asked, nearly incoherent with pleasure.

Rylen grasped his hips, pulling him in the last little bit. “More than ok.”

Brycen moved slowly at first, working his hips to move himself in and out, making Rylen moan. It had been some time since he’d made love to a man outside of mediations or lyrium mania. Brycen watched Rylen as he lie beneath him, running his hands along Brycen’s chest or rubbing his own cock as he took Brycen in his ass. “Fuck you’re hot, Rye.”

“Show me, Brycen. Harder!” Rylen said.

“My pleasure,” Brycen said as he moved again, rising up to give himself more leverage, switching his grip on Rylen’s legs. He started rolling his hips, pounding into Rylen’s hot core.

Rylen stroked himself, but kept eye contact with his lover. “Yes, yes, like that, like that. Pyres I love your cock.”

Brycen focused on Rylen, finding the movement that most caused him to react. Short, firm, fast strokes seemed to be driving Rylen higher, and Brycen was beyond obliging, the years of his training making his body more than capable.

“Oh, right there, right there!” Rylen cried, putting his hand on Brycen’s sculpted abdomen, the muscles tight and cut with use and gleaming with sweat, the other squeezing his sex tightly.

Brycen felt his orgasm rise with Rylen’s touch. “Nah, Rye, come with me!” Brycen growled.

Rylen pulled on himself and arched into Brycen’s thrusts. They both cried out their pleasure as they came, Rylen in thick ropes onto his chest and Brycen deep into his core. They stayed that way, catching their breathes until Rylen sat up and ran a hand into Brycen’s hair, pulling him down for a deep, wet kiss. They rolled to a more comfortable position with wide smiles for each other.

“Careful, Lordling; keep all this up and I could love you, simple homespun that I am,” Rylen said plainly when they broke the kiss. “I am captivated by your worldly tricks.”

Brycen laughed, but then whispered in Rylen’s ear, “You think this word - love - scares me, do you? Ah, Maker, Rylen. If you were to offer me love in this difficult path we share I would be the happiest of men.” Brycen rolled his hips, driving himself into Rylen again, eliciting a small gasp from his lover.“And I would return it freely, and increased.”

Rylen kissed Brycen slowly, passionately, both hoping to live long enough to find out if what they’d said would come true.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Back to Cullen and Trevelyan in the next two chapters at least...


	40. Happier Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen manages to find a reason to be alone with Trevelyan and away from Skyhold.

***

These past few days at Skyhold had been - restful torture. Cullen knew her scent, her form, the weight of her head on his shoulder, her arm over his chest. These things brought him peace and some respite from his nightmares. Even so, his nights were not without torment.

Though she played him fair as it came to his request - she made no move but kisses and caresses as they had agreed - she wore less and less to bed these nights. Last night, instead of cashmere pyjamas or flannel nightdress, it was a filmy nothing made of very fine embroidered muslin. Black, like her hair, its inky length making her skin moonbeams and her eyes silver stars. They both knew what she was about, when they fell asleep with the press of her breast against his side, the heat of her center close by his thigh, no matter the scratch of his own night clothes.

When he’d woken wrapped behind her, his hand on her breast, himself firm and nestled into her nearly bare backside, he’d left the bed, certain that a moment longer would undo his resolve. It was a good test of his discipline. He admired her deft coquetry, his lady moon, demanding nothing, offering everything. How well she knew him.

Something was always holding him back from joining her in bed, joining her in more than sleep, despite her clear invitation. It wasn’t the commitment; he was as committed to the Herald as if vows had been spoken in a Chantry, not that she would be aware.Elswyth and Cassandra had been truly supportive. Sera had been intrusive - items in his office had been left with naughty doodles, and he knew she called him the Inquisitor’s Cullen-Wullen, or Cully-Wully or some such nonsense, but as he hadn't been poisoned after he ate the cookies she’d brought him, he assumed she meant no real harm. Iron Bull and Vivienne were thankfully neutral, but Dorian seemed to be ridiculously amused. Ever since Halamshiral, Solas gave him cool appraising looks. Blackwall positively glowered. Both seemed to be deciding if he were worthy of the Anchor-bearer. Leliana and Josephine giggled at him and made smart remarks at the War Council table. Varric said, ‘Curly, when are you gonna act on that?’ whenever he caught him watching the Inquisitor walk into or out of a room. It was almost too much for a man to take.

He had been trying to find time to get them both away from Skyhold. It was a new feeling for him, the desire to take a few breaths not surrounded by dispatches and soldiers, to do something that was just for himself, and not only the Inquisition or the Templars. 

It finally occurred to Cullen that he wanted privacy in their first true intimacy. He didn't want to be in his quarters, in the middle of everything, nor hers with its implications of power. He wanted just themselves, man and woman, and a quiet place to pass the night or longer, Maker willing, making love.

In his hand he held just such a chance. Enough of the mages were ready to try fighting in formation with Inquisition troops. They wanted more war games, well away from any Venatori spies, and they needed free-thinking opponents. Bull suggested the Chargers, once they were done at Therenfall Redoubt. This letter told him Bull’s people were ready to report and waiting near Honnleath, of all places. As if a gift of the Maker, they had business near his favorite place in Ferelden. He wanted to show it to her, and if she would go, the small inn nearby. It wasn't going to be much, but like most things in the Inquisition, he knew beauty could come from modest beginnings.

The day moved slower than a recruit off to latrine duty, Cullen fretted. At every moment he expected her through his door, but her own meetings kept her.

Finally, she came bursting through his door, as usual. “There you are,” he said with some exasperation as he came around the desk for her embrace.

“Were you waiting for me?” she asked with some humor as she kissed him.

Cullen kissed her back before saying, “Yes! I mean no.”

She chuckled. “Are you quite alright? I can come back later, if you need time.”

“No! Please stay,” he said sheepishly. “I’m just nervous.”

She took his face in her hands, “About what?”

“We have dealings in Ferelden. I was hoping you would accompany me, if you can spare the time,” the plain uncertainty was written across his face.

“Is something wrong?”

“What? No,” he said as he kissed her and took her hands. “Everything’s fine. I have Inquisition has real business there, and I thought you might enjoy going too.There’s more to it, but I’d rather explain more when we get there. If you wish to go.”

His uncertainty was charming in this moment, knowing his normally assertive and decisive manner. “So Inquisition duties with a nice surprise tacked on?”

Cullen nodded. “Yes. Just so. If you can spare the time.”

“Well, you tell me we need a few more days to stage materiel before the companions and I can leave for Griffon Wing. I believe there is time now,” she said. “Though we should wait until Elswyth and Solas return from the Temple of Dirthamen. I need her to wrap up my personal correspondence and plan for my absence when I go into the West.”

“Perfect, as it will take a few days to prepare for the trip. Bull will need to come with us, but maybe only one more companion. We’ll be traveling with plenty of Inquisition troops, and I thought we might like the privacy,” he said.

“Would you mind terribly if it was Sera?” she asked.

“Why Sera of all people?”

“She gets along best with Bull, aside from Varric. But you said private. If Varric comes it could end up in a story.”

“Good point,” Cullen said with a kiss. “But if it must be Sera, do you think you could get her to make some cookies for the trip?”

“The ones with the little chocolate bits? I think I can persuade her,” she answered.

Cullen managed to blush and look smug, which only made Vella care for him more.

***

When everyone was back and reports written and discussed, materials gathered and packed into place, a full complement of Inquisition Templars, battle-mages, and regulars left Skyhold at a brisk trot under the command of Knight-Lieutenant Gervais who had strict instructions to say well behind the Commander and Inquisitor.

It was thrilling, she thought, to ride next to Cullen. He, like Josie and Leliana, could not often be out of communication as long as would be needed to accompany the Inquisitor as she crisscrossed Thedas fighting Corypheus, the Ventatori, the Red Templars, and the general chaos the events of Haven let loose. So many times she’d wanted him to ride out with her, but duty always seemed to get in the way. They’d had to settle for gallops in Skyhold Valley.

"As the Inquisitor, I am imposing a rule," she said as they picked their way down the mountain path, well ahead of the rest of the entourage. “This morning we can only talk about our lives before the Blight."

"At your command, Herald,” he said with a grin. "It is good to think of happier times."

Over the course of miles and hours, they soon knew the names of their childhood best friends, the name of the ponies who taught them to ride, and any number of small and precious moments from childhood.It also turned out she was slightly older than he was, but by less than a season.

“Were you born at the great keep in Ostwick, then?” Cullen asked.

“No, I was born at the Castle Glennavin, my mother’s family keep. We travel among our holdings, when we can. Only my oldest brothers were born at Ostwick. Mother especially likes to be with the peoples. She wanted me to be born in Ballie Na Leannan, and what Lady Rhyamon Maeve wants she usually gets.”

“We have that in common, strong mothers,” Cullen commented. “I was born early, and among strangers, because of my mother’s travels to buy wool. She was negotiating for wool with some Avvar to the southwest of Honnleath and slipped on the wet stones of the cave setting off labor. She stayed for several weeks healing, and we visited every spring after that, until I left for the Templars. It's where I first learned to use a sword, playing with the hold children and the hold beast, a she-bear, Runa. We’re lucky she didn’t kill us.”

“Cullen Rutherford, Avvar warrior,” she teased. “Is that why the bear mantle?”

“I don't know, maybe? I never thought about it. I left Kirkwall with almost nothing, just my books and a few clothes. I wanted no part of the habits or armor of the Templars after the Gallows. When we arrived in Jader, Cassandra sent me to an armorer and told me to pick out what I needed, said he would know my allowance from the Chantry. He showed me the armor first, and we fit it and the armoring clothes. He suggested something like a cape or mantle for the mountains, and I left it up to him. I didn't even think about the helm, templars all have pretty much the same. He just asked: lion, bear, stag, or mabari?”

“And you picked bear?”

“I did, but I thought hard about mabari, too,” he said with a smile. “Ferelden Forever, I guess.”

“I think bear suits you better,” she said.

“Maybe. But I thought we were speaking of our childhoods. Tell me your favorite place, of all places.”

“From childhood, or any part of my life? I had a pleasant childhood, but a wilder life. Are you sure you will be contented with my pampered youth?” she bandied. “Fine nightgowns are not my only weapon. I had to learn my sport somewhere.”

Cullen took a deep breath, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Lady Moon, I look forward to exploring the depths of your knowledge with the length and breadth of my own some night.”

“Sweet Andymion! Sword should be proud. You’re getting better at our flirting.Any night you choose we shall conjoin this battle of wits, to see who is the wiser.”

“Soon, Lady Moon,” he said seriously. “Of that you have my word.”

Her teasing face fell at once to open longing. She blushed and looked away with a small smile. “I look forward to it, Andymion.”

“So, favorite childhood place, Herald.”

Trevelyan thought about all of her favorite places. “Well, there's a place near Highever I loved to visit, and Wycombe is always good fun, but my favorite place at home is where I was born, Glennavin, the old tower keep at Leannan, built in Ancient times. It spans the small valley that is the only way to the main keep; the stones almost look like they grew there to protect the valley with its walls and turrets. It also has a small lake to the inside and beautiful gardens, too. Some of the trees are as old as the tower itself. The feel of the place - peaceful, serene, but also protective, like the power of the mountain the stones were pulled from is protecting you. I ran barefoot with the other children all day, learning craft and knives and swimming and riding. Governesses weren’t allowed past the gates of Glennavin, and I reigned supreme, Queen of the Glen.”

“Sounds like Skyhold,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes.

“It is quite like Skyhold, in all things,” she replied, enjoying his cheek. “But especially the castles. Both old and storied, and protected by the magic of the People.”

“Why do you call elves ‘The People? Varric’s friend Merrill did that as well.”

“That’s what they call themselves, with their words. But of course, humans think they are the only people, so elf or elves is the Common word, from the word _elvhen_. Properly, _elvhen_ is translated as the People or Peoples.”

“You do that to, Herald. You call the people of Ostwick the peoples, too.”

She blushed. “Do I? There are many dialects spoken in Ostwick. We are very clannish and keep to our own habits, even as we all cleve to Ostwick. The enigma of the Marches I guess,” she said as she patted Grim.

“You love Ostwick,” Cullen said. “You get a look in your eyes when you speak of it, this Castle Glennavin especially.”

“Glennavin was special to me as a child, and I was happy there. But childhood ends,” she said quietly, “and I have been content in other places as well. Haven’t you?”

“What’s that?” he asked, steering Eclipse around some large boulders.

“Been happy other places than your childhood home?”

“Yes, I suppose I have. Honnleath was idyllic, to be sure, even if I didn’t grow up in a castle. The Monastery when I was a teen, it was good to me. Denerim was perhaps the best time of my life, looking back. Even Kinloch, for a time,” Cullen said with some thought. “It is strange to think of Denerim now.” He smiled, “It was my first posting out of the monastery.”

“You have stories of Denerim, I can tell.”

“I do, and I am grateful for them, given the ten years in Kirkwall,” he said. “Perhaps it is good I am back in Ferelden.”

Trevelyan watched Cullen for a moment. “It makes me sad, to think of you in Kirkwall. Was there so little joy for you there?”

“At first I sought no joy, and wouldn’t have prized it if it had come to me. But then I made a few friends, developed relationships that had meaning for me. Ethina was a good woman, and a fine Revered Mother. She helped me a lot. Hawke too, if you can believe it. Happy might not be the word for my time in Kirkwall, but I was useful. I made a difference to people, if nothing else. I am not really that exciting by nature. I believed for a time I was destined for bigger things - my ambition was no less than Knight-Divine - but I have always been serious and devout. You may not have noticed any change, if you weren’t a mage anyway.”

“Cullen, despite my teasing, I love your seriousness. Never doubt that I see you as Commander first and a man of legend second. I respect and admire both equally, and I’d never want you to feel like you had to be silly or flirtatious. I would never abuse your dignity like that.”

“Good to know,” he said. “I enjoy our natural banter. More affectation than that would be difficult for me, to be sure.”

Vella reflected on his words. “Why did you give up on becoming a Knight-Divine?” she asked.

Cullen sighed. “After Kinloch, I figured I was too compromised. They even changed my Hallowed status.”

“But that was Cassandra and Regalyan. You’re still Hallowed, I guess,” she said slowly, remembering Cassandra’s words when she gave her the memory stone. Cullen would certainly have been commissioned a Knight-Divine, once the Inquisition had concluded, or maybe even during, depending on Divine Justinia and the Conclave. He had no idea how close he’d come to achieving his ambition. Or that he could still be asked to serve. “Would you still like to be a Knight-Divine?”

Cullen frowned at her. “What in Thedas does that have to do with childhood?”

“Nothing, I’m changing the subject, Inquisitor’s prerogative. Would you still like to be a Knight-Divine?”

“I am no longer a member of the Order, and the Order is no longer under the control of the Chantry. I don’t think it’s even a possibility,” Cullen said.

“But if it was, would you want to be one?” Trevelyan knew this was in her power to forward, if she could bear to part from him. She almost didn’t want to know his wishes.

Cullen stopped Eclipse, and she stopped Grim. “My vows were in service to the Maker, not the Chantry. My service to the Inquisition and Andraste’s Herald, satisfies my vows. I am at peace with that. I would serve the Inquisition. And you,” he said, taking her hand. “I no longer have the ambition to be three steps behind the Divine.”

Vella loved his comfort, but he still looked conflicted. Perhaps she should let this go, for now. Or perhaps not. “But you know two of the candidates already, Cassandra and Leliana. You respect them both, especially Cassandra. You’re a faithful Andrastian. What if the new Divine asked you, personally, to serve?”

“I think I liked you teasing me better, Herald; these are home questions,” he said, giving her a small smile. “My torture at Kinloch, it showed me the vanity in seeking to become a Knight-Divine. Recently, too, I have been reflecting on my desires, and find I am content where I am. If either Cass or Lady Nightingale were to ask me to serve them as Divine, I would say no. I seek nothing from the Chantry: preferment, acknowledgement, nothing. My service to the Maker is my gift to Him. Let my vanity be fed by your gaze and my desires answered by your touch. I seek no more than that, in this life.” He leaned over and kissed her hand.

“I will work to be worthy of your service, Cullen, upon my life and honor,” she whispered.

“I know that. I have faith, Herald.”

***

When they stopped to let the horses rest and drink, Cullen stretched out on a boulder of the stream eating a pear.

"Do you ever _not_ wear armor?” she said, and tossed another pear at him. It landed with a plonk in the middle of his chest-piece. “I don't know how you warriors do anything in that heavy plate.”

"To speak the truth, I don't even feel it anymore. This is the lightest I’ve worn – you’ve seen the Templar armor. I've spent most of the last 20 years wearing armor. I might feel," he paused, " _naked_ without it." He seemed almost apologetic as he spoke.

Her voice was low, and quiet enough for only Cullen to hear. " _Would_ you be naked without it?"

He looked back at her, the heat in his gaze rousing her blood. “I’m always naked without it,” he answered before he bit into his pear, slowly, and raised an eyebrow.

She laughed outright. “I fell into that one, didn’t I?”

“You did. I appreciate the help though. Serious, remember?” he said with a grin.

“Well, at least I know you don’t sleep in it.”

Cullen chuckled. “I do, sometimes. At my desk, or when we’re out on practice maneuvers. Like I said, I’m used to armor. We would camp in armor, when we were hunting maleficar or escapees.Vigilance is key, in that situation.”

“Well, tonight, in camp, I forbid it. No armor tonight because you never know who might crawl into your rack. You sleep surrounded by Inquisition; I’m sure it will fine, just this once.”

Cullen paused. "As my lady wishes," he responded softly, thoughts of tormenting her soft flesh as she had his flitting through his imagination.

Trevelyan gave him a slow smile, and praised the Maker for the warm sunshine. No one would notice the blood rushing to her cheeks. Other places, too, were warmed, and she was thankful for her own leather armor, protecting her hardened nipples and her dignity. They’d been flirting the whole day; she’d take him right now if it weren’t for the train of soldiers drawn out behind them. Open as Cullen was, she was sure he’d never flaunt their relationship. It wouldn’t be professional, she could almost hear him say. Which is why, much as she was frustrated, she would still follow his lead. She needed to change the subject.

“Would you like to ride Grim?” Trevelyan asked as they walked to their mounts. “I’m told you bring him treats sometimes.” Grim nickered softly.

Cullen patted him on the neck. “Are you sure he’ll let me? I saw him strike out at one of Dennet’s boys for even suggesting he’d like to ride Grim. Not that I wouldn’t like to – I’ve never seen his equal. I try to teach Eclipse what I see you do, and what we have discussed, but Grim and you make it all look so easy.”

Trevelyan let her eyes twinkle at the Commander, “It takes the team, with horses. Please ride him. You can practice the moves I've taught you, and you’d both enjoy it – especially if you would do me the favor of riding him when I’m away from Skyhold and leave him behind?”

Cullen smiled softly. “I’d love to, your Worship, again, if he’ll have me.”

Grim knickered a low happy sound. “Good. It’s settled,” she said then whispered to Grim in Ostwick. Together, Cullen and Trevelyan adjusted the tack on Grim and Eclipse and mounted up.

***

The rest of the ride was uneventful, if splashed with heat, both figurative and literal. The sun was bright, and bounced off the snow so that her cheeks turned pink even as her toes and fingers were chilled. The party was finally coming down out of the Frostbacks, and would camp once they reached the plain that rolled downwards until it edged the waves of Lake Calenhad.

“Commander Rutherford!”A scout galloped toward them just as they had transitioned from the stony mountains in to the kinder swells of the foothills.

“What is it?” Cullen asked as worry flashed across his features.

“Ser,” he nodded at the Commander then looked to the Inquisitor, “Your Worship, there is a large band of pilgrims awaiting you just over the next rise. They were intending to make the journey to Skyhold, but as you are here…” he trailed off. “Traveling is hard for some of them, your Worship. Many are old, or sick, and some parents have brought babes to be blessed by the Herald.”

Trevelyan was taken aback, both honored and alarmed. Those at Skyhold had become used to her, the unusual color of her eyes, and the occasional glow from her hand. Even those who stayed at the Skyhold valley camps and saw her less often had grown familiar with her person so that they didn’t stare. She had become conditioned to the aura of reverence in which they enveloped her, both at Skyhold and the camps. It wasn’t always comfortable, but it was familiar. This was a whole new adventure.

She smiled at the scout, “Go back. Tell them the Herald will be happy to hear all petitioners. But we will not be able to delay our travel. This,” she paused, searching for a word, “Peace Council will be tonight only.”

“Yes, your Worship!” with that he spun his horse and galloped back the way he had come.

She cast a downhearted look at Cullen, and rode up facing him. “Discretion demands a sacrifice. It seems our evening hours will be spoken for tonight. Your rack will be quiet, safe, and singular tonight.”

“You must fulfill your obligations, of course,” he said softly. “I admire the way you never take duty as a burden.”

“It doesn’t mean I can’t _also_ be disappointed.” She reached over to touch his cheek. “I would have been happy just sleeping in your arms again. I’d never hold you to our flirting until you were ready.”

Cullen placed his hand over hers and smiled. “I assure you, Lady Moon, I have a plan. You know how I love my plans. I will be yours before our return to Skyhold.”

She leaned over and kissed him quickly, before the rest of the soldiers cleared the rise.

***

That night, and for each night afterwards, they were met along the road by Pilgrims who wanted a blessing from the Herald of Andraste, or the arbitration of the Inquisitor. Once they even found an elderly Templar nearly starved and delirious. He was added to the train and given respite at once. Cullen and Trevelyan spent that night at the Templar’s bedside, watching over him.

These Peace Councils were a blessing to the Inquisitor. She could finally see how her sacrifices were bringing hope and stability to the people in Western Ferelden. King Alistair did what he could for the Inqusition, but he needed to focus on the bigger picture with Orlais, his own nobles in the East, and the Venatori threat. This gave her the faces and stories of the smallfolk to think about when the supposedly great and good moved their pieces in the Game. The Maker’s people should always be in the front of her mind.

On the last night before they were to arrive at their proposed objective, they made camp just outside of Honnleath and prepared for the Peace Council. There were fewer pilgrims to see, so that the last came early, just before nightfall on the long summer’s evening. It was a young couple, with a baby boy and a girl of two years old. They sought the blessing of the Herald.

Trevelyan sat with the baby boy in her arms, while the little girl toddled about her knee. Hearing them giggle made her heart sing.They both had chubby cheeks, curling hair, and the red-brown eyes typical of Southern Ferelden. Cullen leaned in to let the Herald know they were the last petitioners when Amena, the little girl, reached out and pulled on the silk of Cullen’s mantle. She caught him tightly enough he couldn’t rise without knocking her over, so he paused, leaning over next to the Inquisitor’s chair.

The girl started fussing when her mother tried to unlatch her hand. “That’s quite alright,” Cullen said gently to the girl’s mother.Amena fussed louder. He rubbed his chin, then simply caught little Amena up in his arms and stood.

The little girl put both fists into the Great Bear fur lining the neck of the mantle, laughing merrily. Then she tried to tug the stubble on Cullen’s face with one chubby toddler fist. Cullen winced a bit but let her continue. Then he growled softly and pretended to bite at her hand. The little girl startled, but then began to howl with laughter. “Buh Er!” she shrieked.She tried again, and again, with the same gentle growl in response. Again she said, “Buh Er!” 

Trevelyan watched, entranced. So serious Commander was smiling and playing, in his earnest and dignified way. Amena’s big brown eyes, so like Cullen’s own, marveled at him.

They played this game for several more minutes, with Amena tugging, and saying ‘Buh Er, ger-ow’ and ‘no, no, Buh Er,’ and wiggling with laughter. Then she wiggled out of his arms and toddled off only to come running back, attacking his legs. He growled at her, and when she ran off, gave chase like a lumbering Great Bear. It was a near thing, but finally he caught her up and pretended to eat her, eliciting gales of toddler laughter.At last, she snuggled against the fur collar only to fall asleep in an instant, as only toddlers can.

“Commander,” said the girl’s father, as he retrieved his also sleepy son from the Herald, “you have a future with children. She is never that easy at bed time.”

“I spent some time in the nursery at the monastery where I trained,” Cullen demurred. He looked up at the pair. The young man clearly had a question. “Do you need anything?”

The young man looked a bit sheepish. “We do not live that far, but we had thought we’d be leaving earlier and make it home before full night. Now I’m afraid for the wolves and the donkey. Could we beg the night’s protection from the camp? A spot by a fire, some food for the donkey?”

“Nothing so simple. Please, allow me to share one of our tents. Several of our officers have gone on ahead to tomorrow’s objective; it has left an open tent or two. Also, if you haven’t eaten, Cook’s made some lovely fresh rabbit stew.”

“Are you certain it would be no trouble, not put anyone out?” the young mother, Maggie, asked.

“None whatsoever. I have business in that part of camp, and will walk you over. It may also make sure this lovely warrior is completely asleep.” Cullen led them to the door, sent them through, but then walked back to the Herald, the sleeping Amena still in his arms. “Give me one small sand bulb, then walk out of camp, down hill. You will see the mists of a small lake. There is a dock on the near side. I will be waiting for you there. Be sure you are alone.”He walked back through the tent opening, protecting little Amena from the tent’s flap.

She read and answered some letters from her family and then blew out her light, waiting until she was sure her guards thought she was asleep. Then she slipped away from her tent. The night was warm, but cooling fast. As she walked in the moonlight she could see the mist from the lake and feel it’s humidity.

She saw him pacing. Still, he looked more relaxed than she had ever seen him. The purple shadows under his eyes were still there, but his stance was looser, not so clipped and sharp as it tended to be at Skyhold.

“Where are we?” she queried as they trod onto the dock.

“You walk into danger every day. I wanted to take you away from all that, if only for a moment. I grew up not far from here. This place was always quiet.”

She looked out over the shining lake, with the small waves lapping against the shore. “Did you come here often?”

“I loved my siblings, but they were very loud. I would come here to clear my head. Of course, they always found me eventually.”He smiled at the memory.

“You were happy here.” She could see it in the relaxed lines of his face.

“I was. I still am.” He looked around the lake and took a deep breath, as if he wanted to take it all in. “It was my favorite place in the world, as a child.”

“The last time I was here was the day I left for Templar training. My brother gave me this.” He showed her his hand. In the palm was a silver coin of Andraste. “It just happened to be in his pocket, but he said it was for luck. Templars are not supposed to believe in such things. Our _faith_ should see us through.”

“You broke the Order’s rules,” she said incredulously, “I’m shocked.”

“Until a year ago I was very good at following them. Most of the time,” Cullen said with a smile. He looked at the coin. “This was the only thing I took from Ferelden that the Templars didn’t give me.”He looked at her, and then reached for her hand, depositing the coin in her palm. “Humor me. We don’t know what you will face before the end. This can’t hurt.”

She grasped the coin tightly. “I’ll keep it safe.”

He took her in his arms. “Good. I know it’s foolish, but I’m glad.” They stood gently holding each other, happy to be together and at peace.

“Did you put that young family in your tent?” she asked as he held her.

“Yes,” he chuckled. “You know me too well.”

“I think that little Amena stole your heart.” She looked up at him. “Where will you sleep?”

"Well, there is a charming little inn just near here," he said. "It isn't like your rooms in Skyhold, but it's better than the tents. Care to run away with me?"

She kissed him, but then she ran her hands over her hair. "Would they have a tub?"

"Most likely." He paused. "I can have a scout ride ahead."

"I would like that very much," she said, "but I thought we were alone."

He pulled her to him again and rumbled deep in his chest. The sound hummed warmly against her chest, even through his ubiquitous armor. "You are the Herald of Andraste and the Inquisitor; I am the commander of your troops. We are never really alone. Too dangerous, even for you. You almost never leave Skyhold with less than three companions. And I won't tell you how many scouts between Leliana and me. You'd probably order me to stop."

Trevelyan laughed. "I would have at first. But this trip has made me realize that, for now, my life is not my own. Stolen moments might be all I get for myself."

He tipped her chin up to meet her gaze. “I take it you’ll be joining me at the inn then?”

She stepped back. “Let’s go, before we lose anymore time.”

He whistled, and Harding appeared from the mists, with their horses. “ I’ve sent word for the tub. They should be waiting for you both with heated bath by the time you arrive.”

***


	41. The Little Inn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Cullen and Trevelyan are blissfully alone.

***

Since they arrived with almost no entourage, the innkeepers seemed a little curious about the well-dressed guests with coin enough to take the whole of the inn, but politely provided service without getting in the way. When they walked into the room, the tub was steaming, the fire just warm enough to take away the coolness brought by the evening, and the bed looked plumped with the covers turned down.

She removed her long dragon-leather coat and began to untie her boots. Cullen hesitated for a moment, then removed his gauntlets and watched the long, slow process of unlacing and pulling off her boots. She moaned when she flexed her feet and rubbed her calves. Cullen could hear the rush of blood in his ears.

Suddenly, the horses screamed and pounded in the stables, Grim’s all too familiar squeal carrying over the other noises. Cullen went to the door, “You start your bath. They probably just put Grim too close to some mares. Either that or he’s finally decided to eat someone.”

She laughed but looked wistfully at the huge, steaming tub, “Are you sure you don’t want help?” she offered.

“I’m sure.” He looked down at the floor, then at her. “When I return to this room, _Trevelyan_ , I expect you to be naked and wet.” With that he stormed out the door.

She flushed bodily, and couldn’t breathe for a moment. Then she hastily removed the rest of her clothing. There were scented soaps and bath salts in a basket next to the tub. She picked out pale green bath salts that smelled of cool evergreens and slid into the tub. There had been something in Cullen’s voice that told her she’d better not disregard his orders. He had finally done it – used her name. Since her invitation at the Winter Palace, he had yet to call her by anything other than one of her styles or titles: my Lady, your Worship, Inquisitor; Herald seemed to be his favorite. Finally her name.

_Trevelyan_.

A small frisson of desire flooded her at the memory, crinkling her nipples despite the heat of the bath.She whistled and muttered as she shook the salts into the tub, “Think if he’d called me Eyre Anwyn I’d have gone up in flames.”

As she settled into the tub she thought she might have to commandeer it, as it was longer, deeper, and wider than her tub in Skyhold, more than big enough for two.

***

Cullen opened the door slowly. “Trevelyan?” he queried, not wanting to startle her.

“Come in,” she said dreamily. He walked in, quickly closing and barring the door. Then he turned slowly toward the tub, which faced slightly away from the door.

She was in the tub, her hair twisted in a knot on top of her head. It gave him a side view from her ear to her shoulder, along her arm, down her chest to where her breast floated a bit, the nipple just at the water’s edge. Tendrils of her hair clung to her neck and cheek.She opened her eyes and gazed at him “Get. In. Here.” She spoke slowly, languidly. She closed her eyes again and settled back into the tub.

He undressed as quickly as he could, all the while telling himself to stay calm. He’d been rock hard from the moment he walked through the door, but he wouldn’t fall on Trevelyan like a ravening beast. At least, not this time. That thought made him leer a bit, thankful she was turned away from him. When she heard him approach the tub, she scooted forward, gathering her knees to her chest. “Wash my hair?”

“At your command.” Cullen stepped in, gingerly sinking down behind her and into the hot water. He untied her hair and slowly began to cup water onto it, running his fingers through it. When he messaged the soap into her hair, he did so carefully, so as not to make unnecessary tangles. After he rinsed it, she sighed and leaned back against him.

He washed his own hair quickly, quietly shushing her offer to help. Then he reached for the soap and towel sitting on the rack.She felt his hands run over her shoulders, the towel and the calluses of his sword hand scrubbing at her skin. His fingers urged the tight muscles of her neck and shoulders into jelly.

Raising her arms to the edge of the tub, she encouraged him to run his hands under her arms and up over her breasts. With one hand, he cupped a breast until his fingers tweaked her nipple. His other hand brought the towel between her legs, running it lightly over her mound before stopping and resting in place when she tensed a little.

“Where did you learn that?” she sighed.

“Learn what?” he asked teasingly.

“How to wash a woman’s hair? The message? Even at Satinalia and the Winter Palace you were better at getting my braids out than me.”

“Just after I took my vows at the monastery, I was named as an aide to Knight-Captain Heloise. When she was promoted to the Denerim Chantry House about a year later, I went with her as a lieutenant on her command staff. They generally want a little more age and experience before they send you to guard a Circle, so city Chantries get a lot of junior officers and newly vowed knights. Not long after we arrived in Denerim, we became lovers.I was 20 summers at the time. She was about twice that.”

The Herald was impressed, “You were full young to be her lover _and_ her officer.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said saucily. “When I entered Templar training, I found I had a few advantages – though not as many as some. Some came from noble houses and were very well educated, but many others had come from poor families or orphanages. Some were even left at the monastery as babies. They had received the typical Chantry lessons, but my parents had always seen to our education with care. I was fully literate in Common and Orlesian, could read Antivan, as well as handle a sword and shield. I had also gleaned some simple military tactics from the many, many books my brother and I had read about King Maric’s war to free Ferelden. That and all the chess I played with my wicked sister, Mia.My skills were noticed and encouraged. Still, even when I was assigned to Heloise, she had so much to teach me, about tactics for different kinds of mages or terrain, about Templar litanies and meditations, about lyrium and its effects. We did not start as lovers.”

He let his hands travel over her body, messaging and teasing as he talked. “Finally, she taught me about the finer points of combining sex and battle meditation, though I was no virgin when she finally took me to her bed. There were rules about Templars fraternizing with the mages, but no such limitations among the Templars, so long as you didn’t wish to marry within your direct command structure. For marriage, there were special conditions that spouses had to be met like self-sufficiency or income. Templars are not priests; few take the Brother’s Vows. Sometimes the Sisters forget this, and certain monasteries and abbeys can be overly strict, like Bournshire. Poor bastards that come out of there don’t know what to make of the rest of us at first. Most do quickly adapt to the meditations, however. The Chantry frowns on all the sex, but lets it go, at least once you get old enough.”

He slipped his middle finger between her folds, making her gasp. She spread her legs for him, and undulated her bottom along his hardness as it rested against her back. Trevelyan moved to touch him, but he held her, gently but firmly, to his chest. He had a plan - more to share and more to learn before he would take it further; distraction was not an option.

He continued. “Everything about Templar training is concentration and control. Lyrium awakens all the senses, its power courses through the blood like nothing else. At times of high emotion, like after Harrowings, successful or unsuccessful, sex and its release is commonly sought among Templars. This could involve more than one partner at a time, especially coming down from the heat of lyrium and battle,” he slowed his hands.

“More than one partner? You mean Andraste’s Daughters?” she asked.

“Two woman at once? Of course, many times.” Cullen sighed, “Though not common among Templars usually as men outnumber women.”

The Herald gasped. “Is that why you seemed uncomfortable with all my questions at Haven, because you were keeping a naughty Templar secret? I thought it was because you were such an innocent Chantry boy.” She felt his chest hum with a deep chuckle.

“I suppose all my stammering might give you that idea.” He ran his finger from her opening, up over her center, and back down to her opening. Over and over, never changing the slow tempo, as he talked. He could feel her getting fatter, her nubbin hardening and a slickness all her own covering the tip of his finger. She sucked in a breath.

“But you would be wrong. Through mediation with Heloise, I learned ways to lessen the risk of any unintended consequences for my fellow female Templars.”

“Helpful, without a doubt. And staying power, mmm,” Trevelyan tried to stay focused but his hands knew just where to touch. “Wait. Men outnumber the women?” 

“Yes. There are fewer female Templars in general. Men are not unknown to me, though I prefer women.”

Trevelyan considered his words and the wonder of his hands on her body. “Maferath’s Threesome,” she whispered, trying not to think of yet another man in her bed.

“Yes,” he whispered into her ear.

Trevelyan gave him a sultry look over her shoulder, “Maferath or Maker?”

“Either.” He kissed and nipped her neck. “I don’t care, I like both ways. Among others, Annlise was my lover at Kinloch, as was her husband, Farris.”He paused for a moment. “Bevan too, was always in my bed. From the monastery onwards. Having a same-sex lover is commonplace among the Templar officers. Like Brycen and Rylen.”

She purred under his touch. “Shartan’s Dilemma?”

“A few times, mostly with Annlise, Farris, and Bevan.”

Trevelyan whistled appreciatively. “I wonder what Dorian would make of this revelation?”

“He already knows,” Cullen chuckled. “Remind me sometime to tell you what stakes he wanted to play for when you first found us at chess.”

“Would you have taken him for a lover?”

“I really enjoy Dorian. I envy his ability to choose joy over wretchedness. But no. I only - played Shartan - for Bevan. I knew Bevan loved me. He knew I preferred women. I did love him, though, in my way, and he was a tender lover. The monastery was lonely at first. He was my first friend there, my only friend for quite a while. It’s no too far fetched to call him my first love.”

“I am sorry you lost him so horribly,” she whispered. “That you lost the people you loved like that at Kinloch.”

He kissed her ear lobe and squeezed her close, waiting for his emotions to pass. Then he asked, “And you, Trevelyan? We’ve talked so much at the War Table and in my office I could guess at your battle tactics, but your bed play is another matter entirely.”

She slipped along his body, raising her hands to his hair, twirling her fingers in the wet curls. “Mmm,” she breathed. “I have tried sharing, I have been shared. It was novel, but for the most part I have kept my bedmates to myself, since I prefer men and they are not good at sharing, usually. I took my first real lover my eighteenth summer. He was – special – our love making was always like worship. My next was Declan. We were at it like Fennec foxes. Tried everything.” She hesitated. “But it ended badly. So very badly.”

Trevelyan waited until her voice was her own again. “I’ve taken other men to my bed since then, though I have not kept them for very long. Sometimes I left. Sometimes they left – I’m too secretive, too demanding, too aggressive - I’ve been told too many times. In bed and out. Even before the Mark.”

“All the better for me,” he whispered to her. “I love a challenge.”

His hands began their slow tease of her breasts and sex again. “I for one am relieved you are no bashful virgin. I’ve wanted you so long I’m not sure I will be able to be gentle, _Trevelyan._ ” His voice was so low at the end it seemed a growl in her ear.

“I’ll keep you to that, you know,” she murmured. “So few men have made a study of the art of love making.”

He went back to teasing her. Nibbling her ear, her neck, squeezing her breasts. All the while the fingers of his other hand made their hypnotic circuit around her entrance to her clit. He watched as her breath quickened, her chest flushed, her nipple pebbled under his hand.

At the same time she roiled in front of him, rubbing his cock between her firm bottom cheeks, along her lower back, and running her hands over the places she could touch - his bunching thigh muscles, his arms, the scruff on his face. He sucked on her fingers as they played over his mouth.

“Makers Breath, Cullen. The way you touch me, I’m about to come undone already.”

“You are delightfully responsive, Trevelyan. Makes it even harder to control my eagerness to be inside you,” and with that brought his hand up from under her leg to thrust his finger inside of her tight channel. Slick with her own moisture, it helped him twist and curl his finger to push against the rough patch at the top just inside her. He stroked his finger again, and she threw her head back, arching and moaning for him as her sex clamped down on his finger signaling her first orgasm. He kept up the even strokes and the pressure on her wall. “That’s it baby; it’s been years since I felt a woman come on my fingers. Or my cock.”

“Na!” Trevelyan mewled and gasped, “More. I want more of you.”

“As you wish, Lady Moon,” he said against her earlobe, adding another finger. He kept up his caresses and soon felt her come again, squeezing tighter around his fingers, her body beginning to shake, her breath hitching.

“Ah, yes, yes, just there!” she commanded.

Her words spurred him on, nibbling her neck and ear, using his other hand to caress her hip and thigh. Her nails dug into his shoulder as she tried to find purchase on his wet skin to help work her body on his fingers. The soft needful sounds she made called to him, and he could feel himself growing harder under her passionate writhing.

At last he brought his other hand down to her sex and pressed on her mound, her swollen center caught tightly between his long fingers.

“Cul-len!” she cried out, pressing herself back onto him, shuddering in his arms.

As she came, he too tremored, sat up, and pulled her close, curling himself around her as his hips flexed along her backside, his own orgasm taking him by surprise.

She rocked her hips against him as their pleasure subsided, and then went limp in his embrace. He slipped his fingers from her and shifted them both into a more comfortable embrace.

She turned to kiss him, her hip now pressed to him, her body along his chest. “I never want to leave this place,” she murmured, making him chuckle. Finally, her mind replaying their passionate lovemaking she asked, “Years? What do you mean, years?”

“Years without a partner. I took very few partners in Kirkwall. There were – complications - among the female Templars at the Gallows, and most of the men were - cruel. So I took an elven lover near the Alienage.When she left to join her family in Orlais, I found no one else I wanted.”

“You find elves attractive?” she asked.

“Yes, very attractive. I always have, since I was a boy and saw my first Dalish elves near Honnleath. Do you?”

“The People are beautiful, without a doubt. It’s too bad, what’s become of them.”She caressed his arms as they held her to him, then she asked, “What are these?” She trailed her fingers along faint blue lines that twisted from his elbow down to his wrists, and slightly darker ones from his knees up and down his legs.

“Those,” he said with a sigh, “are a symptom of lyrium withdrawal. I get them whenever I have a flare-up, though none have been as bad as the Winter Palace.”

”When did you have another flare-up? Are you in pain?” she sat up a little to look at him.

He didn’t make eye contact when he answered, “Not right now, but a few days ago. The lines appear, my joints ache. I manage to be grumpier, but I survive.” He shrugged, then shivered in the cooling water.

Trevelyan deftly changed the subject, seeing him shut her out with that shrug. “Should we get out?” 

“Probably,” he said with a gentle chuckle. “I climaxed, but I didn’t _spend_ so you needn’t worry about the water – it's just it is getting cold.”

She wiggled against him. He was still hard; his breadth nestled against her. “Andraste’s Grace! Was that just the warm up? Babies will be the least of my worries if this is Sword’s idea of foreplay,” she cried. “I don’t even think I can walk yet, my legs are like jelly.” 

“Stay there,” he said with a kiss to her forehead. She felt him rise and step out over the edge of the tub, and soon she was being lifted into the cool air as he carried her to a small table. He set her on top and kissed her before he reached for the nearby towels, wrapping her and then himself. Then he picked her up again and headed for the bed.

He placed her on the bed reverently. She stopped him before he could join her. On her knees on the bed, she put one hand on his shoulder, the other cupped his sack below his still erect manhood. “Does that mean there is something still in here for me?”

“Everything is for you,” his whispered, eyes closed, enjoying her touch. “Whatever you need.”

“No, my heart,” Trevelyan slipped gracefully from the bed to her knees on the floor. “Whatever you need,” she answered, nuzzling his shaft and balls against her face before running her tongue along his hardness. She looked up at him as her tongue ran a line along the turgid underside of his cock, across his stretched back foreskin, and over his weeping and sensitive head. “Sword has been so patient with us,” she teased.

Cullen laughed, then hissed in pleasure as she took him into her mouth. “Maker’s breath, Trevelyan.” He traced a finger lightly across her cheek. “I won’t last long like that. Years, remember?”

“Don’t then,” she whispered against his head. “Don’t last, take your pleasure Cullen.I give it to you, gentle or no,”She took him to the root, one hand on his hip, the other placing gentle pressure on his sack.

“Fuck,” he snapped, his cock jerking in her mouth. She kept up her sucking, alternating short strokes and long deep lunges, her nimble fingers playing with his sack and taint.

Trevelyan took him out of her mouth with a pop. “Come in my mouth, I want all of you.” She moved his hands to her hair, then plunged down onto him again.

“Ah - Vella, yeeesss!” he hissed, fingers curled tightly in her hair, guiding but with controlled force, hips thrusting with growing passion. When she felt his balls tighten under her hand, Trevelyan let her teeth graze him on the backstroke. Cullen bellowed and started to fill her mouth with his spending. She swallowed eagerly, tasting him over her tongue, feeling him slide down her throat, sucking down everything he offered.

He stood for a moment, hands in her hair, looking down at her in wonderment. Then he collapsed to his knees in front of her, kissing her. After a time they climbed into bed.

“You might be the death of me,” he said, pulling her to face him. “But I’d be happy to go.”

“Nope, sorry, my heart,” she said. “I have plans for you. I’m going to need Sword sometime soon, and you are not bad either.”

“At your command, my lady,” he offered, playing with her hair. Then he leaned down to pull up the bedclothes. “Though I will need a short rest.”

She sighed. “It’s so quiet here, no wind whistling, no soldiers clanking, nor sisters singing. My rooms sometimes feel right in the middle of everything.”

“I suppose. But no one has ever walked in on you bathing,” he teased.

Trevelyan gave him a playful poke. “True.”

As they warmed the blankets, she thought about what she knew about Solona Amell from the memory stone; she was curious about others. She drew in a breath, “Did you love her, your Knight-Captain Heloise?”

“I was wondering if you’d ask.” He also took a deep breath, and rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “I cared for Heloise, respected her, but I didn’t love her, nor Annlise. I was a pleasant distraction for both of them. I was too young for Heloise. Annlise and I cared for each other, but she loved Farris. I was just a means to an end for her. Just before the Blight, there was someone, special, at the Kinloch Tower, though we were forbidden to be together. She was a mage – a powerful mage. So in tune with her magic it just flowed out of her. As a Templar, I was in awe. Usually the powerful ones were ambitious and uncaring, or conceited, cruel. They needed watching – they were the favorite prey of Pride demons. She wasn’t any of those things. She was bossy, but she looked after everyone, apprentices, mages, Tranquil, even Templars. But I pushed her away. I lost faith in her – she broke my trust, and I ended it rather cruelly. She got in some trouble at the Tower just after that and was thankfully taken by the Grey Wardens. Watching her walk out of the tower broke my heart, but it was no less than I deserved.”

Trevelyan rolled over to look at him. She ran her finger along his jaw and then drew her finger across his scar. “Did she survive the Joining? Was she at Ostagar? What happened to her?”

He winced, almost imperceptibly, before he spoke, “She is Solana Amell, Warden-Commander, the Hero of Ferelden, and King Alistair’s mistress. By all accounts, she is very much in love with him, and he with her. But you knew all of this already, it was in the stone.”

He felt her tense in his arms, so he looked into her eyes. “Do not worry. I don’t pine for her. When the demons at the Ferelden Circle tortured me, one used her likeness. A desire demon tried pain and pleasure to get me to break, but it didn’t work. I had known her touch, her real touch. It helped me recognize the illusion, it freed me from my love for her, though it freed my anger too. The things I said to the real Solona about mages when she came to save the Circle during the Blight, they were hardly what she deserved to hear at the time. I regret those words, but not our parting.” He kissed Trevelyan gently. “Besides, I have changed, and would choose a different kind of partner than Solona Amell; King Alistair is welcome to her. I hope she is happy.” 

“Me too, because she can’t have you back,” she said.

“I should thank you, Trevelyan, for being so patient with me. For waiting until I was ready for this – ready to make love.” 

“I would wait for you should it be for an age and a day,” she said. “And I’m willing to wait at least a little longer if I finally get to have Sword inside my sheath.”

“A few minutes more, at least,” Cullen said. “Sword is not as young as he used to be.” Trevelyan chuckled at the joke.

Cullen stroked Trevelyan’s hair. “And you? Has the Herald of Andraste known love’s fire with any of your men?” He tried to sound light, but his heart was tight in his chest as he took in her face.

She looked down, her gaze dropping from his even though she pulled herself more tightly to him, entwining her leg over his own.

“Twice. My first love, of course. I love him still, but he is no longer in this world. And then Declan,” she murmured. “He wanted to marry. His family was great friends with my family, and very rich, but they were not nobility. When we went to The Trevelyan for permission to marry, he did not want me to accept right away – ‘delay this,’ were his actual words - so I did. I knew his meaning. I told Declan we had to wait, but could ask again after my older siblings had produced more heirs. Then the bloodlines wouldn’t be so important.”

“I take it he did not react well?” Cullen kissed her forehead.

“No. Declan was so angry with me. He wanted me to run off to join the Grey Wardens. When I refused, he said I never really loved him.” She stopped, and turned her face into his chest. “He was not so lucky as the Hero. He died at the Joining,” she was glad Cullen couldn’t see her face.“I was – I was devastated. The guilt was almost too much to bare. It is why I ran off from my home – I couldn’t bare seeing the way everyone looked at me.”

Cullen pretended not to notice the tear he felt drop onto his chest. “You did right, complying with your father’s request. Time will only allow a close relationship to become more so, as we have seen. It seems reasonable of you to try waiting before defying your family.”

Trevelyan was quiet for moment, then wiped away her tears. “I have thought about it since. I was correct in yielding to the obligations of my family then. Declan and I did have time on our side; I regret he didn’t see that.” She looked at the green line across her palm, hardly more than a tattoo since its power was unneeded. “Now I have even more obligations.” She felt his breathing change.

She hugged him tighter, twining closer with her arms and legs. Dawdling, yawning minutes passed. It was so quiet at the inn – the wind at Skyhold often kept her awake. “Good thing for you, as part of the Inquisition, _you_ are now one of my responsibilities. My hand may be the Anchor, but it says nothing about where I can give my body. Or my heart.” She felt his heart beat harder in his chest. Just as she coasted off to sleep, she said, “And just so you know, according to my father’s last letter, he now has 10 grandchildren – Teryna Letizia, Jamie’s wife, was born of another baby boy just last week. Heirs aplenty.”

Cullen wondered if his heart was going to come out of his chest. He felt her relaxing into sleep, even as his heart still pounded. Had he heard Trevelyan correctly? That she felt free to _love_ him without worrying about her duties, her commitments to her family or the Inquisition? In his thirty-odd years of existence, he had never felt like this about anybody, including Solana. Is this love? Trevelyan was so… he left off. He had not yet found the words. Once his heart rate slowed, he too began to relax into sleep, for once deep and untrammeled by nightmares or unfulfilled desire.

***

She woke to a soft cough. Over Cullen’s softly breathing chest she could see Harding standing just inside the door.

The scout mouthed ‘I’m sorry’, and held up a note. The Inquisitor frowned back sleepily and reached her hand out of the blankets for the note, wiggling her fingers impatiently. Harding grinned and handed it to her.

Vella snuggled back into the blankets and opened the note. “Damn,” she hissed quietly. She looked over at Harding, and said softly, “Let me dress. Can you get me some Qunari brew? I’m going to need it for this meeting.”

Harding just nodded and shut the door.

Moving slowly, Vella sat up, fetching up a towel and covering herself as best she could. She looked down at Cullen; his hair was mussed, a curl hanging down over his forehead. His color was better, pinker than usual. The deep purple that always lingered under his eyes had lessened. He almost looked healthy.

That tub and those glorious bath salts must be brought back to Skyhold, she thought, if they can work such miracles as these.She could see all of him now, as they had never dressed and she let the blankets fall back a little. So much power in that body, coiled in his muscles, swelling in his cock, laced through his mind.

So much suffering, too. His mind must be resilient to have resisted the demons’ torture at the Circle Tower. His heart and body likewise, just to keep going afterwards. At that moment she wanted to do nothing but spend the day showing him how much she needed him, needed his tenacity – maybe even his luck. In fact, she thought it might take more than a day. She knew she couldn’t - too much still to do, so many people still waiting. So, not today, she thought as she pulled the blankets up over him. But soon, and he would need his sleep.

She dressed quickly, but just as she was going to leave him a note, he stirred in the bed. “What is this? What’s the matter?”

“Shh, my heart. It can’t be helped. We can start again tonight,” she said as she bent to kiss him and tuck him back in. “I dare say the inn is close enough to camp we can stay here during the war games.”

Cullen took her hand and guided it under the blankets to his morning-hardon. “Or we could start again now. You’re too calm for it to be Corypheus,” he said, bucking his hips into her hand as he palmed a breast and tweaked the nipple over her clothes. She gasped and her body language softened. He sat up and kissed her neck and her ear lobe, wrapping his arms around her to assert more sway over her body.

“Dammit man, you’ll make me wet,” she whispered, pumping her hand over him, making him growl sleepily. “For anyone else, I would ignore the summons, but I really can’t,” she said letting go of him and pushing half-heartedly on his shoulder.

He could tell she was torn but serious, and flopped back into the bed. “Better be no less than the damn king,” he grumbled.

She made an amused sound. “Funny you should say that. It’s actually the Queen Dowager.”

“Anora of Gwaren? Here in Honnleath? I thought the king held her prisoner in her own keep?”

“So did I, and yet she’s in our camp and most aggrieved, along with at least three of her vassals and their knights, demanding to see the Inquisitor. Something about property damage, or damaged goods. Harding wasn’t too clear in the note.”

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll come with you.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather get a little more sleep?” she asked.

Cullen sat up and swung his legs out of bed. “I’d love to, but as your champion I can’t rightly let you go in against the Queen Dowager alone. When she was only the Lady Anora of Gwaren Heloise called her the Blond Mink, and it wasn’t a compliment.”

“Blond Mink?”

Cullen started dressing. “You know Orlesians, always obsessed with pedigrees. Heloise said she was a blond mink - a weasel with a better wardrobe. Grand Cleric Elemena was also not impressed with the girl who would be queen.”

“Interesting. Do you know why?”

“No idea. But I would trust Heloise’ judgement of her, so I go with you,” he said.

Harding brought two mugs of the Qunari brew, proving her worth as a forward-thinking forward scout.


	42. The Queen Dowager

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Queen Dowager of Ferelden brings a problem to the Inquisition. The ladies make opening moves, each learning her opponent as they fight for the center.

 

***

Cullen and Trevelyan rode back to camp quickly and quietly, meeting with Gervais, Bull, Sera, and Harding in the Templar tent, well away from the Peace Council tent where Anora and her vassals had been asked to wait.

“Tell me,” she said as she began to brush out her hair and change her clothes into the fresh ones Sera had brought for her. Fortunately, she had packed with care, practical but quality pieces in colors that suited her and spoke of the Inquisition, green wools and white leather, with pumpkin silks. She regretted the lack of jewels or chains of state, but this trip was to have been about love and war and not pomp and diplomacy. It was of no matter, the queen would see what she chose to see; Vella knew this version of herself would give Anora only part of the picture.

“The Queen Dowager is accompanied by Bann Howe Kerr, Lord Donall Kendalls, and Sarberg Shipwright, the guildmaster. They have with them a covered wagon. We suspect there is a prisoner within, but Howe Kerr’s men haven't let us near it. Her Majesty would like to meet with you privately before meeting with the others.”

“We're wrong-footed, being afield and without diplomats of any kind. No doubt she chose to meet us out like this for some advantage,” Vella fretted. “Who can I send to fetch the queen that's of sufficient rank? With this woman, everything matters.”

Gervais scratched his head. “We’ve a couple minor noble officers in the regulars, but the highest ranking person we have with us is a count from Orlais. Might give offense more than show respect.”

“Send me,” Cullen said and took a deep breath. “We're in an army camp, my army camp. Only the Inquisitor outranks me. She can’t take offense with that.”

“The Commander does carry a sense of safety and gravitas, and the right kind of distraction,” Bull said as he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. “What woman doesn't like a handsome man at her service?”

Cullen made a salute before he said, “I shall fetch the Queen, if my lady wishes,” his self-satisfied smile the only indication that he had heard Bull’s jest. “My orders, Inquisitor?”

Vella straightened her clothes one last time. “Enter the tent with purpose. Give a small bow and greet them generally - ‘good morning, sers, I am Ser Cullen, Commander of the Armies of the Inquisition’. Be polite, but meet their eyes and show no deference. Then look only to the Queen Dowager. Say, ‘Your Majesty, it has been a long ride from Gwaren. If you're in need of some privacy before we begin, I can show you the way.’ She should recognize the offer for what it is and come with you.”

“And if she doesn't?”

“Then she's not the courtier we think she is. If it happens, just say ‘the Inquisitor awaits’ and gesture to the door.”

“Very good, Inquisitor,” Cullen said with a bow. “Anything else?”

She walked over and kissed him, their present company not the least bit phased by the display of affection. As they hugged she whispered in his ear, “Flirt with her, but only if she flirts first. I want to know what games she plays.”

He kissed her cheek and released the hug. “Only by your leave, Trevelyan,” he said with a wink and left the tent.

Vella knew she had a dopey grin on her face, which is why the pinched one on Gervais’ face surprised her. “What?”

Gervais looked at Harding, who laughed and shrugged. “She’ll be fine; it's the commander I'm not looking forward to telling.”

“Inquisitor, when the Queen Dowager and her entourage rode up, Sera and Bull were out in the fields. She was riding his horns and shooting at targets.”

“Piss it, Gervais, last time I help you skive off back to Lysette,” Sera said.

Bull shook his head. “Sorry, Boss. If we’d known the Queen Dowager was coming, we wouldn’t have done it.”

“Well,” Vella said. “Unusual for war games but hardly problematic. No doubt she knows why we’re out here. They were practicing. A bit early, true. Shows enthusiasm.”

Gervais scratched his scruff. “They were out that early because the commander was gone. They’d convinced one of the trebuchet crews to work with them, and they were launching straw men into the field.”

“From the trebuchets?”

“Yes. And Sera was shooting at them.”

“And Sera was shooting them?”

“From Bull’s antlers. She had them behind her knees and,”

“Nevermind, Gervais,” Vella said interrupting. She gave Sera a bemused look. "Really, Sera? I hope you're ready to bake some more cookies."

"Inky, it was so worth it," Sera said with a grin. "I did use some of Cullen's on the trebuchet team. So I guess I'm really in trouble."

“Cookies aside, the team only did it to prevent Bull and Sera from messing up the calibrations,” Harding said in their defense.

“Be that as it may, she’s going to think that our army is undisciplined. Still, it may well work in our favor - if we can keep the commander from launching that team from their own trebuchet when he finds out,” Vella said.

Cullen stepped into the tent and held back the flap stating, “Your Worship, I present Her Majesty the Queen Dowager.”

“Later, Harding, see me,” Vella said quickly as she stood and put her court smile on to greet Anora of Gwaren.

***

After the proper introductions,Vella chanced a glance at Cullen. His expression remained neutral except for a small twitch at the corner of his mouth, causing her to smile as she invited the Queen to sit.

The Queen wore a riding habit, with full split skirts over pants and boots much like those favored by Elswyth. Anora’s was made of dark yellow light-weight wool, with the wyvern of Gwaren embroidered on the chest. She also wore a simple head covering, a creamy muslin veil embroidered yellow and red at the edges and held in place by a simple gold coronet. It was a subtle reminder that she was still the only Queen of Ferelden, dowager or no. Practical, but appropriate, Vella thought, musing on Anora’s choice to play up the feminine.

“Your Majesty wanted to see me?” the Inquisitor asked. “As the Inquisitor or as the Herald of Andraste?”

Anora looked down. “I respect both titles, but I have come perhaps more as one strong woman to another,” Anora answered. “I come as a supplicant, your Worship, as the protector of my people and my city. Gwaren is in danger and I find I am almost powerless to defend it. I need your help.”

Vella looked at the Commander. “Have we received reports of Venatori in Gwaren?”

“No, your Worship. Nothing from my scouts,” he said with a frown. Harding gave a slight shake of her head.

“It’s not Venatori, it’s the craftsmen and merchants. Sarberg Shipwright has nearly shut down the city due to a business transaction with Bann Howe Kerr gone awry. I need help brokering the solution, as you have been doing on your way here. Or at least as my people tell me you have been doing.”

“I am flattered, but shouldn’t his majesty the king be made party to this conflict? Most of the issues I have seen are between the Chantry and mages or templars or smallfolk, where I have some authority at least.”

Anora said, “The king is suspicious of me, since the events at the Landsmeet of the Fifth Blight, and I am prevented from carrying out most of my duties. I am prevented from doing much of anything at all. The Crown keeps me as Ternya in name only. I’m only alive because I have powerful friends in the Landsmeet and I am still the next best thing Ferelden has to an heir. Beyond that, the Crown ignores me and neglects Gwaren.”

“I am sure King Alistair doesn’t ignore the needs of his people,” Vella offered half-heartedly, openly showing shock at Anora’s words.

Anora straightened. “Until recently, the king has been frequently missing from his lands, leaving the ruling to the Guerrins, who have no love for House Mac Tir. The only reason they do not cut Gwaren off completely is that they need our resources. The people of Gwaren still respect House Mac Tir. My mother was quite popular among the people, and though much tarnished, my father, too. His Majesty is a hero out of legend, like his father, like his brother very much wanted to be. Unfortunately, the skills needed to become legend are not those needed to rule a land as vast as Ferelden. Surely, you know this. Your own ambassador had to help the king through negotiations with Orlais. The king is a good man, but not one I can turn to in this hour of need.”

For a woman so allegedly cut off from the world, Anora knew quite a bit about what happened with the King and the Inquisition. Vella pressed on, saying, “The king has been an understanding host and willing supporter, perhaps our earliest supporter. The Inquisition should hate to offend him by getting involved in anything that is truly the business of the Crown.”

A tear began to fall down the queen’s cheek, though her back remained straight. “My people already suffer from this disagreement. I assure you, it would cost you nothing to intercede.As the Herald of Andraste you do have some leeway. The king could hardly be angry with our Prophet’s own chosen one.” More tears followed.

The queen spared a glance for Cullen, who blinked at her. After a moment, he offered her a clean scrap of linen from the sword cleaning materials for her tears. She took it with a polite nod to the handsome commander.

“As you say,” Vella said, stopping herself from rolling her eyes. “Why don’t you tell me the whole of the problem, so that I can make an informed decision.”

Anora patted at her cheeks with the linen, giving the neutral faced commander a modest smile. He made a slight bow. Vella kept still.

Anora began. “They are neither of them being very honest with me, but the city is at a stand-still because of this business deal. Sarberg is the guild-master of the Shipwrights, and therefore the most powerful craftsman in the city - most of the other trades owe some business allegiance to the shipwrights. What makes Sarberg particularly powerful is that he also controls vast acres of farmland and woods, a gain made by a worthy marriage in his grandparents’ generation. He also is the landlord of several important merchants, from his mother’s family. He’s cut off supplies and forced the other guilds into a work stoppage or slow down until his deal with Kerr is rectified.”

“What is this deal?”

“I believe it has something to do with the carriage they won’t let anyone get near. Bann Howe suggested we come to the Inquisition because he says the Inquisition is partially to blame for the problem, but I don't know how,” Anora said. Then she teared up again. “I am the anointed Queen of Ferelden, the Teryna of Gwaren, and I am almost powerless to feed my city, to fix the problem. It is the role of the sovereign to protect and defend their realm. I cannot act to negotiate as a sovereign. I cannot even act as a warrior, to fight for my people. You must understand my frustration, your Worship. Please help me help my people.”

Vella took a deep breath. If her preference were to women, she’d already be helping the beautiful queen dowager. She was compelling. And no doubt wily; blond mink indeed. She looked to Cullen, who now stood behind the queen. He smirked and then gestured to the others.

“Very well, your Majesty. You shall have the help of the Inquisition and the support of the Herald of Andraste in untangling this mess and restoring your city to order. I shall handle the diplomacy with the king when I return to Skyhold. Lady Montilyet would give me the best advice. Let us see to Bann Howe and Sarberg Shipwright.”

***

“Sarberg Shipwright, why is it you have brought the city of Gwaren to a stand still?” Vella asked from her small throne in the Peace Council tent. Bull and Gervais stood century behind her, with Cullen at her right hand and Harding at her left. The queen had been seated, while the Bann and Sarberg were left to stand. Sera lounge at a table off to the side of everything, watching.

Sarberg was in his healthy middle age, with salt and pepper hair, and very well dressed for a merchant or craftsman. It would have been difficult to tell him from Bann Howe Kerr until he opened his mouth. “Yer Wership, I have made a deal with Bann Howe, for which he has been paid a handsome number of sovereigns. A very handsome number indeed, and fer which I expected undamaged and blameless goods. So now, even though he’s the richer from my coffers, I stand here in possession of an item neither undamaged nor blameless, and therefore unfit fer the contracted purpose.”

“And what item would this be?” Vella asked, getting very tired of the secrecy.

“Your Worship,” Bann Howe said with a bow, “he is speaking of my younger daughter, the Lady Howenna Kerr. We contracted marriage between the two of them, but now he wants to go back on his signature.” Bann Howe flicked his fingers at Sarberg, as if dismissing him. Bann Howe was of an age with Sarberg, but was wan and slight, as if he’d never worked hard a day in his life.

“It were noted in the charter ‘undamaged and blameless’, were it not?” Sarberg said. “I made a good bargain, bought into a noble house for noble children, but I’ll not take such a wife as the one he sold me.”

“Master Shipwright!” Vella said sharply. “Marriage contracts do not imply goods to be bought and sold. They are agreements of honor between important houses; noble sons and daughters who enter them should not be referred to like chatel. We are not horses.”

Sarberg bowed to her. “Fergive me, yer Wership. I am new to the contracts of nobility, as well as their ways. I am a craftsman and a merchant, and a bargain is a bargain.”

“Tell me, where is Lady Howenna? Why is she not among us - surely she was party to the contract and signed alongside her father?” Anora asked.

The Shipwright bowed again. “Yer Majesty, yer wership, I have kept her secreted out of respect. I dinna know ought else to do. She abides in the covered carriage, as befits a lady. She’s not fit to be seen, as she is. Bann Howe dinna tell me what state she were in, before she arrived at my house fer the wedding. When it were discovered, I went to the Bann quietly and wanted out of the contract. But he told me he’d spent the money forward already, on marrying his older daughter and heir to Lord Donall Kendalls’ son. He couldna give me the money back.”

“I have no idea what the man prattles on about, your Worship,” Bann Howe said. “She was exactly as she had always been, when I left her at the Shipwright’s country house. And the money has been settled on the marriage of my heir and Lord Kendall's second son. The children are wedded and bedded and we have no cause nor desire for an annulment.”

“That’s coz you’ll break yer house if you give the money back, leaving the bannorn in poverty. Profligate ways you have, Bann Howe. But I am still owed,” Shipwright said. “Yer alliance with Lord Kendalls makes no nevermind to me.”

Vella was becoming quite annoyed with both men, and the queen looked no more amused. “Is this what you dealt with before coming to me?”

“Yes, indeed,” Anora said. “But I had no idea this was over a marriage contract. What exactly is wrong with the Lady Howenna that you won’t take her to wife?”

Shipwright looked uncomfortable and remained silent.

“Come on man,” Vella said with temper. “And it better not be that she’s fat or plain. You sit before powerful women who would judge you harshly for this objection.”

“Pardon, great ladies. It is nothing of the sort. Compared to you both, she’s no great beauty, Lady Howenna, but I like her well anough. I’m not much to look at myself. I dinna ask fer her fer looks. She’s been her father's seneschal fer years, since her mother's death, the only person amung ‘em that's kept the family solvent. There's much respect in that. It’s just, I’d be dreadful embarrassed to say it direct to you ladies.”

“Can you tell me, Shipwright? I will have no problem telling the ladies,” Cullen offered.

“Right, yes. That I can do, ser.” They stepped away and Cullen leaned in to listen to the craftsman. Vella watched his face, calm until his eyebrows shot up. He turned to the man and whispered angrily, his whole bearing gone commanding officer. Whatever he’d said, the shipwright vehemently denied it. Cullen relaxed and nodded at the man, then they both walked back to the ladies.

“Your Majesty, your Worship, I am informed by Master Shipwright that Lady Howenna is with child, and not by him. He says she arrived that way. It is why he won’t marry her, and why he wants his money back.”

This brought a great uproar to the tent, with the Bann and Lord and Master Shipwright shouting threats and insults at each other.

“ENOUGH!” Vella commanded, rising from her chair. The men all stopped their quarreling.

Sarberg made a bow to the Inquisitor, and at her nod he continued. “I kept her secret, great ladies, so she might not be shamed; she seems a nice anough lass. Told me about her condition herself, not that it wer hard to notice, if you looked at her. But I’ll not leave my fortune to a bastard of unknown glory or shame,” Sarberg said. “Could be a little lord, but it could also be a mageborn or a halfblood for all I know, and I'm not so old as to be beyond hope of fathering my own children. I’ve shut down the city until I am repaid in full. Bann Howe’s word has no credit.”

“Gervais, fetch a great cloak for the lady, and bring her here in honor. We can do no less than Master Shipwright,” she ordered. “Commander, find us a healer. The more experienced the better.”

***

After a bit of commotion, Illia appeared through the tent flap, and not long after that a figure in a great green cloak with the hood pulled up. When she got to the center of the tent, she pushed the hood back. She was by no means a beauty, but her features were even and well made; pretty would be the word for Lady Howenna. She had straight blond hair, pale skin, a great quantity of freckles, and seemed fit enough for a woman of her age and station. Gervais offered to take the cloak, and once she got it all the way off, the rounded belly she carried was small but plain to see.

When she finally looked up at her father and the other assembled people, especially the queen, she began to cry.

Vella smiled at the girl. “You have no cause for that, Lady Howenna. This is a problem, but not the worst one to have.”

“Have a care, Inquisitor,” the queen dowager said. “This is Ferelden and you are of Ostwick. This sort of thing isn’t common among the nobility of Ferelden. You might find you are speaking out of turn.” She gazed at the girl as if down her nose. “Your indiscretion and lack of honor has paralyzed a city, Lady Howenna. Gwaren suffers, and you have certainly caused a problem for your noble father - were this widely known your family might be shunned at court. What have you to say for yourself?”

Vella cleared her throat; the queen dowager had just stepped over the line. “Lady Howenna, whatever you tell us, please understand that you have the protection of the Inquisition. The truth is your best defense, at this point.”

Cullen brought her a chair, and she sat. “Thank you,” she said.

“How far along are you?” Vella asked.

“More than a season. I know I conceived the night of Satinalia or just after.”

Bann Howe made a disgusted sound. “See now, Inquisitor, this is more your mess than mine, as I said. She was at Skyhold, as my emissary, for that holiday. She was supposed to establish trade, not get pregnant. I wash my hands of you, Howenna. And up until now you had been the responsible one, with the run of the whole household. I would not have thought a drunken revelment would sway you from your honor and duty.”

“Having been at Skyhold for that holiday, my lord, I would forgive any lapses of judgement from that night among my own people. This Satinalia past was quite the revel at Skyhold. I was myself the goddess Satina, and it is a treasured memory in my own heart,” Vella said, with a small smile. She chanced a glance at Cullen, who also had a soft blush to his cheeks, before her face became serious once more. “If this happened under our protection, we will do what needs to be done. Lady Howenna, will you name the father of your child?” Vella asked.

Howenne nodded. “Yes, Inquisitor. Captain Martin Bennick of the Inquisition, Army of Ferelden, Skyhold Garrison.”

“Which captain is that?” Vella asked, looking to Cullen.

Cullen stepped forward, “I am not certain, but I believe he used to be one of Brycen’s staff officers in the Skyhold camp.”

Vella thought for a moment. “The one with the kind eyes or the bright blue?” she asked.

“I do not know,” Cullen said.

“The kind eyes, my lady,” Lady Howenna said. “But what does he mean, used to?”

“Don't fear, my lady. If it is the same Captain Martin Bennick, he's been promoted. Took over as commandant for the garrison at Caer Bronach,” Cullen said. “Brycen himself recommended him to command the regulars at the keep.”

Howenna cried real tears, unlike those of the Queen. “He seemed a man of substance. Not one to make such a rash decision.”

“He should be sent for, Inquisitor,” Cullen said to Vella. “He has as much to answer for as the lady, if not more. I do not like to think of my officers taking advantage.”

“Do send for him, so that I may have my satisfaction from him,” Bann Howe Kerr.

“Not before I may have my bride-price,” Sarberg said.

“No!” Howenna barked. “It is all my fault. He is a true gentle soul. I wouldn’t have his life upset because of my foolish notion,” she whispered and then she really began to cry.

“That’s it! Out! All of you men but Illia out!” Vella barked as she stood, gesturing for them to leave. She waited until they departed, Cullen last and with a salute; then she turned to Anora. “And you too, Gwaren, unless you can keep a civil tongue in your head!”

“How dare you?” Anora answered from her seat. “I am still the queen!”

Vella turned to the Queen Dowager and lowered her voice. “You are the _queen dowager_. I am the Inquisitor. This is _my_ camp. I mean to solve your problem, but not if you make it worse. Marriage contracts and weddings and children ALL have their places. Even those children from the wrong side of the blanket. Like all freeborn people, they may rise as their will allows,” Vella said quietly to the Queen Dowager before she turned her back. “I know my place with King Alistair, how far I may go as Inquisitor, Anora. Is your relationship with the King so clear that you may be forgiven your judgement of a love-child?” she said without looking at her.

Anora made a face like she’d swallowed a fishbone. “Very well, I shall leave it to you then,” she said and swept from the tent, no doubt to find the Commander and complain about her treatment. Vella hated leaving Cullen with the several irritated nobles, but she had faith that he and Gervais and Harding would figure it out.

“Well, that was exciting,” Illia said. “Now, Lady Howenna. My name is Illia, and I am a healer and a mage. Have you ever been examined by a mage or a midwife before?”

“No, to either,” Howenna said. “Does it hurt at all?”

“No,” Illia said. “I will just read your aura, and that of the baby. You’ll not even need to remove more than your overdress, and the Inquisitor will stay with you the entire time. If there is something unusual, there is an exam that is quite intimate, but not painful. We will talk more should we need to proceed with that, but we probably won’t. Women have babies all the time.”

“Have you ever been examined like this?” Howenna asked Vella as she loosened her stays; Vella helped her pull her gown off of her underdress before she answered.

“I have. It is odd at first, but necessary for your health. We have many mages at Skyhold and use magical healing often. Illia is my favorite healer, but I don’t tell him that,” Vella teased.

“Don’t trouble yourself, your Worship. I never pay attention to such things.”

Howenna nodded to the mage. “I am ready, ser.”

Illia looked her over, took her pulse and measured her belly before calling his magic. “Are you sure of the conception, lady? Forgive me, but you are carrying rather large for just over a season.”

“I am sure,” she said with a blush. “I was a maiden, until that night. Frankly, I don’t know what came over me.”

Illia called his magic and began his careful reading. Vella could see Howenna was tense, so she thought to distract her. “Can you tell me about it? Satinalia? Or maybe how you met Captain Bennick?”

Howenna paused, watching Illia for a moment. “I met Captain Bennick briefly on my journey to Skyhold. He and his patrol escorted our group up the mountain pass from the foothills near Lake Calenhad. It was just a passing acquaintance, we talked a little on the ride up the pass; he arranged for my people to get tents in the valley, arranged a room for me at the castle and a meeting with Lady Montilyet and the Quartermaster. I didn't see him again, once I was in the castle. Not until the night of Satinalia. We bumped into each other in the Great Hall just before Satina named her Andymion. We talked. He was so attentive. I'd never felt the sole focus of a man before - my older sister is the heir and beautiful, too. Nobody bothers with the second sister. Ben, he was just so vital, so fun for a serious girl from Gwaren. It wasn’t flirting - we were just talking. It was like we'd been friends for years, talking and laughing at the plays.”

“Excuse me, but could I get the lady to stand? I'd like to make another pass,” Illia asked.

Howenna stood. Illia started hovering again, so Vella prompted Howenna to continue. “When did things - change?”

“During the elves’ dance. I was overcome with how beautiful it was, how it made me feel this longing, like something I'd never known - I was melancholy and joyful at once. I thought - of course, now that you’ve promised yourself to another for duty, you meet the man you could love. And so I kissed Ben, for how he saw me. And he kissed me back.

“Afterwards, we followed the dancers out of the hall because we couldn’t keep our hands from each other. It was better, once we were outside, we weren’t so fevered. We talked more, and walked down to the fire in the lower courtyard, where the elves were still playing and dancing. We started kissing again, and I thought - so this is what it’s like to be in the arms of someone who cares. Or at least I hope that’s what it feels like.”

Vella smiled in recollection of her own loves. “Like you’re home, and warm, and safe,” she said. “And that the other person also feels home, and warm, and safe.”

“Yes. Exactly. I started to cry, though I’ve never been a crier. Ben was so worried he’d done something wrong. He offered to walk me back to the party or to my rooms. But I all I could think about was my wedding coming, about how I couldn’t go back on my word to Sarberg. And then I knew. It was selfish, but I had to have the memory of delight to temper duty and honor, and sacrifice. I had to have this man, Martin Bennick. I had to know just once what - everything - felt like. It’s what I told Ben. That I was a maid and to marry, but that I wanted just one night that felt like what we were sharing.”

“And what did he say to that?”

“He said he was honored I had asked, and wished to give me everything, but that we both knew it wouldn’t be right. I cried again. I never knew I had so many tears. So Ben said that we didn’t have to - do everything - that we could find enough pleasure and leave my maidenhood for my wedding bed. Seemed a thoughtful compromise. My room would have been too conspicuous, so we went to his tent in the lower yard. And that part - was lovely. All of him was lovely. But then - I don’t know. We were naked in each other’s arms, whispering and kissing after our pleasures, me still innocent of a man, when something happened. A wave blew through the tent like a warm breeze, and we were on fire. Ben said, ‘I want to be one with you, Howie. I have to be one with you.’ And I - I was aching with need too, I felt empty. Like I was incomplete without him in me. And so I opened to him and we made love. He was so gentle, it didn’t even hurt. It was like it was, I don’t know.”

“Meant to be,” Vella said with a defeated tone.

Howenna looked up at Vella through misty eyes. “Do you tease me, my lady? Do you judge me for being seduced like a little fool? Give me credit, for berating myself these past weeks, once I realized I was pregnant.” Her look to Vella was sharp and fierce.

“It is good to see such spirit, lady, but I mean no ill will. I would never judge you for what you have just described. You and Ben, you responded to some very old magic. It’s an honor, to be called by the magic of the People. It’s as much a blessing from the Maker as any Chantry rite.”

“It felt like a blessing, at the time. It wasn’t even supposed to be possible for me to get pregnant at that time, I thought. I must have messed up counting my days,” she said as she rubbed her growing belly. “I have no regrets, other than the trouble this might cost Ben; I can overcome most difficulties on my own. When I missed my bleeding, I just thought it was the travelling. By the second time, it was too late to do anything I knew of. I was starting to show a belly. I’d hoped Sarberg would let me have the baby and then wed. I wasn’t going to double my mistake of honor. I waited to tell him until I arrived to prepare - but I didn’t need to, I was showing so much. My father and sister hardly notice me, I just wore baggy clothes. They thought I was getting fat. And here we are, in this fine mess.”

Illia cleared his throat. “I have news, ladies.”

“Do you want more privacy?” Vella asked.

“No. I have no more secrets than this baby,” Howenna said simply.

“I should like to do the internal exam, Lady Howenna. There is something unusual about your pregnancy. I’d like to be a little more careful.”

“What’s the matter?” Howenna asked, a little alarmed.

“Be calm, lady, you are perfectly healthy, it’s just that I believe I know why you’re so large already. You are carrying twins,” Illia said with a grandfatherly smile. 

“Two babies?” she said incredulously.

“Two babies, yes. Twins. But I’d like a second opinion, Fiona’s to be exact, and I’d like to make sure your womb is responding well to the pressure. Hence the physical exam - which Fiona could do, if you prefer.”

Howenna sat down heavily on the chair. “Two babies? How will I possibly take care of them? I have no home, hardly any money. One baby, sure. But with two I’m outnumbered.”

Vella knelt before her. “You were under my protection at Satinalia, the goddess Satina herself, if you’ll recall,” Vella said, trying to cheer up the overwhelmed expectant mother. “The Lady Moon gives light, and apparently babies, too. We’ve had a number of these little ones spring up from that evening. I’m thinking of starting a club.”

Howenna laughed through her tears. “Yes, that was you wasn’t it?” Then she gasped, “And the Commander. That was him as Andymion, wasn’t it?”

Vella smiled and nodded. “Let me propose a solution, and if you are amenable, it will solve everyone’s problems.”

***

“So what to you think?” she asked Cullen and Harding in the brief meeting she had with them while Fiona and Illia gave Howenna the more private exam.

“Leliana would be suspicious of the Queen Dowager’s role in this,” Harding said. “I feel like there may be more to her interest in this match than she lets on.”

“I agree,” Cullen said. “And Bennick should be questioned thoroughly before any of it is inked and waxed.”

Vella made a face at him. “But of course. I am a romantic, but I haven’t taken leave of my senses. I am sure buying her out of this contract will be expensive. But it’s valuable information, how much was settled on her. It will tell us if there was a bigger game afoot. The more outrageous the price, the more likely that is. I shall also have Elswyth or Dorian do the family trees for the Kerrs and Sarberg Shipwright. Perhaps Varric to investigate the trade alliances. We will need to send spies to Gwaren, after this.”

“I have already written to Leliana. She’s to send her answer to Redcliffe. I assume we will travel there for a boat to Calenhad docks? We’re traveling to Caer Bronach?”

“Yes,” Vella answered, meeting Cullen’s eye. “But not at once.”

***

Back in the council tent, Vella frowned at the parchment in her hands as she sat in her formal tent in front of the banner of the Inquisition. The contract was a teryna’s ransome. And interestingly, Anora was the official signatory. She would have to ask Howenna, if she wanted the truth about how this contract came to be. Even then - this entire affair was suspect.

“You are a rich man indeed, Sarberg Shipwright, to offer so much for Lady Howenna,” she said. “This number is more than the last offer made for my own hand, if my father is to be believed.”

“Yer Wership, my family has been lucky in trade and craft, and has made marriages that brought us wealth and connection. We do well anough. The Lady Howenna was always a sensible customer, at the shops, and a hard bargainer. She’d have been worth the sacrifice of my house,” Sarberg rightly blushed. “You, my lady, would be worth more, to any smart man.”

“Hardly a bad start, such respect,” Vella said. She looked to the room. “The document has been read and consultations with advisors taken. This is our proposal. The interested parties shall ride to Redcliffe, where we can contact the dwarven bankers. Arrangements will be made so that a third of this bride price will be restored to Sarberg Shipwright from our Ostwick accounts. We failed to keep the lady in honor under our own roof, so we gladly take the children under our protection.Once the Inquisition’s payment is arranged in Redcliffe, Sarberg Shipwright will release half of the trade he has been holding back at once so that the city does not starve.Another third will be paid back by Bann Howe Kerr, over the next two years as he failed to notice anything was amiss before spending the bride price. Always hatch the chickens first, Bann Howe.The last third we shall determine payment for after speaking with Captain Martin Bennick. He and the lady will bear some of their own costs. This will be negotiated at Caer Bronach and communicated within the fortnight. Trade shall be fully released within the fortnight after that. We would have it all resolved before the lady finishes her second season.

“Should Bann Howe Kerr not pay his debt, the Terynir of Gwaren shall arrest him and hold his heir and household goods as responsible for the repayment. If it comes to forfeiture, so be it. It may not be the ways of Ferelden, but in Ostwick we pay our debts. Ambassador Montilyet will write to the king about this immediately, letting him know how helpful the Teryna has been, and that she saw to it that the people of Gwaren were protected and safe. All of you would do well to remember that she is the one who saw you through this trouble, as well as the one who worked to set things to rights. The Herald’s only desire was to help a city in need, and as Inquisitor my responsibility was to accept the consequences for any unfortunate outcomes. In time, this may be seen as the beginning of a better friendship between Gwaren, her vassals, and the Inquisition.”

***

 

 

 

 

 

 


	43. The Last Secret and the First of Many

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen explains himself, so that Vella will forebear a little longer. Solas celebrates with the odd elves of the Inquisition, but clashes with Elswyth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay - rewrote this chapter 3 times, still not happy, but pushing through. 
> 
> ***

 

~~~ Dispatch from Honnleath Camp to Redcliffe Castle ~~~

 

Trevelyan, My Lady Moon -

I thought I had breached the final barricade to our romantic campaign at our little inn, but events took us away before true victory. Leave it to a queen to foil my careful strategy. 

Earlier today, I saw a side of you I did not fully comprehend before.

I suppose I’ve been seeing it this entire trip with the Peace Councils and the smallfolk, but the differences in our births are in stark contrast when you faced down the Queen of Ferelden without a blink. Even your language suggested your dominion over everyone in the room.

Whatever some other man has ever offered for your hand, it wasn’t enough. Marriage contracts and bride prices do give me pause, but what is a king or a queen, or even a contract, to a goddess? I am your Andymion still, Lady Moon. I serve at your will, but it is this service that keeps me from your bed.

The real reason you are not now covered in sweat and quivering around my body is much simpler and more human. I deny us both because of Lady Howenna’s lovely round belly, and the other lovely rounding bellies I have started seeing at Skyhold this past season since Satinalia. They remind me that if we had made love that night, we too could be growing beautifully round with our child. As we prepare for Adamant, that thought sobers me and reminds me of my sworn duty - your protection and success.

However, in this I also protect myself. I have one last secret from Kinloch. It troubles me to share it because it feels like cheating or like using a trebuchet against a hut of wattle and daub. Also, the secret is not entirely mine, but it will help you understand me or I would not burden you. Because of an illness in his youth, Farris was unable to give Annliese a child. They asked, as their friend and lover, if I would father a child for them. I was honored. As Annliese’s belly grew, their happiness was mine. I was a young, ambitious man and felt no possessiveness. I gave the belly hardly any thought at all, until after the siege when I had to put my own baby daughter on a pyre with her mother and father. I fear I might not survive that experience again; I very nearly did not the first time.

And yet, I am only a man, even if called upon to be a man of legend. I write this with your goodnight kiss still tingling on my lips, half mad with the desire to again see you naked in my arms and coming undone at my touch. Leaving your tent was difficult for me. I know I disappointed you, despite your kind reassurances. I ask you to be gentle just a little longer.If the Maker allows us both to return from Adamant victorious, as I pray He will, we will know when the time is right. Sword believes, as do I, that we are a _fait accompli_ , merely waiting for a considered opportunity to strike true.

Forgive any passage of time if this does not catch you in Redcliffe.

Yours in All Things,

 Cullen

 

~~~

 

Vella stared off into the distance, the beautiful twilight view from the balcony at Redcliffe Castle lost to her as she thought about Cullen’s letter. She would have to get better at arguing with this man. It wasn’t lost upon her that he would happily take an order from her that contradicted his own best judgement, but yet he still implied doubt that she knew anything about her own body or responsibilities. It was wrong of him to decide by himself for both of them. But with a reason like his - she wouldn’t risk anything of the sort leading up to Adamant. Preventatives - natural and herbal at least - were effective but not perfect. Truly, what wouldn’t she give up to just sleep in his arms again?

Simple exhaustion drove her to sleep anywhere when she was out in the field with her companions. Her bed at Skyhold had become a handsome wasteland of loneliness when he had gone back to his own room after Brycen and Rylen left for their own camps again. She should have just asked him to stay. With all of the pilgrims following them on this trip, out of decorum they’d spent every night but last night apart, and only last night had she been able to sleep well. If she was his strength when he doubted himself, then he was also hers when the enormity of her new role caught up with her. He was her rock? Her anchor? She flipped her hand over to look at the faint green line. Whatever the metaphor, she needed him near her, and not just for his pretty body.

This capacity to decide for her and make it stick - his peremptoriness, Elswyth would say - was something Vella found oddly attractive, but having any checks on her decisions also provoked her, no matter that her rational mind agreed with him. A few days sweating her response would be good for him. Or at least make her feel better. He would have his answer waiting for him at Skyhold, but not before. She could almost hear Elswyth tsk-tsking her pettiness.

“Your Worship, forgive the interruption,” Gervais said quietly.

“No need,” she said. “Please get me out of my head for a bit.”

“Arl Teagan informs me the ship will be ready to sail at full light tomorrow. We should head down to the docks at dawn. Likewise, he will accompany us on the trip to Caer Bronach, to make sure this is all in the interest of the Crown.”

Trevelyan sighed. “Teagan used to be fun, according to my brothers. I’m sure he will help with Anora. She won't try anything too _outré_ with a Guerrin present.”She looked at the letter in her hand, the sight of Cullen’s bold script gave her a pang of longing. “I need to send a dispatch to Skyhold before we leave. Come back for it in a half mark?”

Gervais saluted. “At your command, my lady.”

 

***

 

In a glen about an hour’s ride into the Ferelden side of the Frostbacks, scouts had found a most unusual forest, one that had been laid out with thought to usefulness and beauty. The valley held a variety of fruiting and flowering trees, along with very old oaks and a smattering of others. At the edge of this forest an ancient whitethorn grew. It was this tree that the members of the Mycenan clan had been watching with interest for some days.

In this sheltered valley, the venerable tree had budded early and would be flowering well ahead of those elsewhere in the area. It was at the foot of this tree that Terrwyn and Gulbadan would be bound as one in marriage, according to the customs of her clan.Elswyth and Mother Giselle, working with Josephine and Leliana, also arranged for a few other couples, with rounding bellies and without, to join in on the celebration and be married according to Chantry customs.

And so it was that the remaining advisors and companions, several high ranking army officers, many mages, the diplomatic staff and ambassadors, and guests from other countries and courts made their way down the mountain and to the little glen, riding horse and halla and pony or pony cart, as their skill and ability allowed.

Morrigan flew high above them in her raven form, refusing to ride anything. It was a show of magic she’d refrained from before, preferring to keep her magical skills mostly unknown, though she did politely answer Cullen’s questions for the record. She described herself as ‘Witch of the Wilds’, and her main talent as shapeshifter, though she refused to give any shapes beyond ‘raven’ and ‘other’. She kept high and behind the group, watching Kieran on his new pony, who he had named Goblin, at Grim’s suggestion, of course. The boy rode with a natural grace - so much so Dennet found it hard to believe he had only just started learning a proper seat. Boy and pony were hardly to be separated, much to Morrigan’s grudging amusement.

As if by command, the day was sunny and warm for the time of year, and the weather had been dry and pleasant in the days before so that the guests could enjoy the setting on the first day the outdoors truly beckoned after winter. Small tents and carts of food and drink had been set up before the arrival of the brides and guests, and into one of these tents Gulbadan, her maids, the other brides and their maids, and Elswyth disappeared, leaving the others to mingle, sample the food provided by a variety of the cultures of Thedas, and to play games with each other and the few children of the camps.

Cassandra and Varric argued over the plot of his latest novel, while Vivienne and Dorian talked with a delegation of Navarran and Orlesian nobles, trying to out dazzle the other with their wit and sartorial splendor. Josephine was lobbying Jean-Paul, _Comte de Évreux_ , for access to his grand library on Elswyth’s behalf. Blackwall, having given out many newly made stick horses, was now organizing a grand parade of the children all around the glen, though really he was watching Josephine.

Solas wandered among the offerings, chatting up serving girls and court ladies alike. Fiona and Illia, too, he greeted warmly, but noticing the Lady Morrigan nearby, now human and well-dressed, he bowed out quickly and went to find Terrwyn. Solas and Terwynn had developed a friendly rivalry, for though the sword dance had given Solas the role of falcon for the Venery, it was Terrwyn’s partner who grew the belly, as Terrwyn never failed to miss mentioning. Solas, for his part, always remembered to comment that it was his magic that had brought Terrwyn and Gulbadan together, no matter who’s belly grew.Even so, Terrwyn greeted Solas with a bear hug and a glass of single malt near the blooming tree, so happy was he to have found Gulbadan, their baby only adding to his joy.

“My friend!” Terrwyn said, “We are humbled you would join us today. Elswyth wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“How could I not? Your union honors Elswyth and I both, as does the baby. And what a glen you have in which to become one!” he said looking around at the beautiful setting. “I understand that according to Gulbadan’s people, a whitethorn in bloom will make the gods smile upon you,” Solas said to his friend.

Terrwyn nodded. “We have the whitethorn, as you see, as well as a sword from Lady Cassandra, a staff from First Enchanter Fiona, and a cauldron from Lady Morrigan. We’re only missing a Great Stone, so we’ll use a decorated table instead - then the others will use it during the Chantry ceremony. Still we could ask for no better place.The archivists surmise the glen was planted by the first occupants of Skyhold, and that the oaks may even be the children of the great table in the war council chambers. Though for me, I care only that the garlands and Gulbadan are here.”

Solas looked at the nearby tree. “Are you sure there is no stone?”

Terrwyn shrugged and gestured to the tent full of brides and bridesmaids. “Elswyth suspects there is one buried here, but we didn’t have time to search for it.”

Solas looked toward the tent at the back of the field and noticed Elswyth standing at the portico of the wedding tent. Her hair was now caught up in braids decorated with silver chains and light blue gems, but she was still cloaked. His gaze never left Elswyth as he planted his staff into the ground and made a subtle gesture with his other hand, ending with a closed fist. The green apparition of a large stone lifted from the foot of the whitethorn, hovered for a moment, and then settled softly on top of the grasses as it became a solid, natural boulder of black granite. Elswyth blew Solas a kiss, which he caught and pressed to his heart with a small bow.

Solas turned back to Terrwyn, “And there you have it, a Great Stone. This is my gift to you and Skyhold. The old traditions and the new, for the People.”

Those among the crowd that witnessed the display of magic tittered and gasped. The elves muttered amongst themselves about the _hahren’s_ magic, and a few braver ones made quiet jokes about Terrwyn’s bride and Solas’ baby. After a pleasant drink with Terrwyn, Evander, and Balgair, Solas wandered away from the crowds and the teasing, seeking out a quiet place to sleep and dream, seeking to know the spirits of the little forest.

As arranged, the Chantry weddings went first, and were performed admirably by Mother Giselle. The courtiers sang and prayed politely and the elven musicians added their talents to the festivities. Elswyth enjoyed watching these, and like the other courtiers from Ostwick, human and elven, took part in the prayers and the singing.

Soon it would be time for Terrwyn and Gulbadan to join hands and share promises, so she knew Solas should be found.He had made an appearance; some part of him wanted to be there among the other elves, no matter how odd he found their customs. As for the Dalish, since dancing the falcon, the mere sight of Solas sparked awe and whispers like a unicorn of old. She mounted Cosimo and walked deeper into the forest, away from the field of happy guests and newlyweds, following the deep hum of Solas’ magic.

Elswyth never was much attached to her bed warmers, but she did find the purr of Solas’s magic soothing; she could pick it out from other mages and elves at the castle. Since Satinalia, she could sense him return from adventures with Eyre Anwyn, could feel him coming to her in her wheeled cottage where they slept together most nights - after having sex hot enough to light the coach on fire. But sometimes he needed to be alone with his dreams, and other nights she had had enough of togetherness, so he would return to his tower couch. Their moods were as plain to each other as expressions were to humans.

Eventually she saw him sleeping under a willow and slipped from Cosimo’s back. She walked to him and sat on the root at the Solas’ side, watching him. He was sitting on the root and leaning against the trunk; nearby a quiet pool reflected the branches and sky. Elswyth shivered as she sat in the shade of the tree, but she felt the place to be calm and beautiful nevertheless. By the gods but he was fair, she thought as she pondered his relaxed face, his ginger brows for once not pinched in thought or arched in scorn nor raised in distracting mischief, sexual or otherwise. Not for the first time she considered his true auburn-haired glory - full and long for court or shaven and braided for war. Irresistible either way, to be sure.

She picked up his hand and ran her finger over the top, whispering, _“Ma’erelan, garas’em. Ar avy isalal na, Erelan’ara.”_

Solas moved, then his eyes fluttered half awake. His breathing stayed slow and regular until a smile began to warm his waking features. Sleepily he said, “ _Lasem bellanaris, ma sulahn ma’ nehn,”_ before his eyes closed again _._ After another moment, he roused again to say, “A dreamer dost sleep to awaken to a dream.” He gazed at her, eyes blue as the cool wintersend sky overhead, but full of so much more warmth.

Elswyth’s jaded old heart fluttered; she felt herself blushing. She chuckled at herself, deep and low, before she answered, “Flowers grow old, soft petals turn to fruit. Fair Folk do wait on thee, and whitethorn, too.”

“So they’re ready to do it?” he asked, pulling her hand to his lips for a kiss.

“Yes. I’m glad you will attend, though I know the cobbled cultures of the Dalish irk you.”

“Sometimes, but Gulbadan’s people also fascinate me with their customs,” he said, rousing a little more. “In my study, I can't tell if they are remembering or if they've made new traditions, they are so far from the days of Elvhenan and the culture of Arlathan. Or so I have dreamt in the Fade.”

Elswyth stood and adjusted her traveling cloak while she waited for Solas. “According to my sources, not all of the People were of Arlathan, _din arla Arlathan,_ that there were other fair family customs, of which Arlathan was only the most powerful part. Some were forgotten on the wings of battle, or secreted themselves in leafy nook or stoney sanctuary, or in the case of Clan Mycenan and the others of their tribe, on the edge of a continent between mountains and the sea, content to ride out the vicissitudes of history without glory or legend."

“That would have been nothing like the great court at Arlathan,” Solas said as he stood. “Sounds either peaceful or boring, depending on your point of view.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was,” Elswyth said. She hid a smirk by turning away from him.

“I am ready,” Solas said as he picked up the fur-edged Keeper robe Elswyth had embroidered for him after Halamshiral. It had a hood, but wasn't enchanted or armored so it was something he only wore for the cold temperatures at the castle. Elswyth helped him straighten his clothes and collar underneath after he put it on.

“You have, perhaps, outdone yourself with this robe. Every time I wear it, I get more attention from our Dalish friends than I deserve. Or than you might have intended,” he said with a smile.

She noticed his preening pleasure, but didn't comment. “Perhaps the idea of my handsome _hahren_ in the arms of another no longer bothers me? You're an artist of seduction, truly. I saw you at the Winter Palace.You’re tender as you couple, even palace kitchen girls are treated as elven queens.”

Solas caught her up in his arms with a surprised smile, “Is that so, _ma’ nehn_? You can hardly fault me now, it’s been months. I also seem to recall a young human lord on his knees under your skirts in the pleasure gardens. You do come so beautifully for a man’s tongue. But that was a ball, in Orlais, the capital of the Game - dissimulation is standard play. But here, in Ferelden, at a wedding of all places?” Solas spun her about, trying humor against her nonchalance. Elswyth’s face remained cool. Solas stifled a wry smile at her seriousness. “I know enough of your indomitable will to wonder if anything at Skyhold happens without your notice or say so. It would be very exciting, I think, to see that will - surmounted.”

“Perhaps you confuse me with Eyre Anwyn - I serve her will. Nothing happens here without my lady’s notice or my lady’s say so,” she said, finally relenting a little. She kissed him, then pressed her cloaked body to him before she whispered, “As for surmounting my own will - if I were to take another in the field today, I doubt it would it even stir a mote of emotion from your own shrewd heart.”

“I am old enough to know a challenge when I hear it,” Solas said. “Are you setting me a trap?”

Elswyth shrugged. “ _Himasar_ make even the most practical natures wax romantic, especially those where there is already an _ivar’lina._ I just wanted us to be honest about today,”she said. “We are both too old to be drawn in by such notions, are we not?”

“I suppose,” he said giving her an appraising look. “Is it that you want to watch me pursue another, or that you would like a change?”He kissed her neck, his arms pulling her to him as close as her cloak would allow. “I could be persuaded to perform for an audience, or perhaps in an ensemble?” he said with a low growl.

She chuckled and leaned her neck into his kisses. “Insufferable conceit! I just think we should be free to choose today - no expectations. I’m worried we have just become a habit,” she said, deftly twisting out of his arms. “I would be no man’s routine. Besides, there are many new Dalish at the castle, and as it happens, that Orlesian youth is here to negotiate the use of his family’s splendid library. Needs must allow that the rules of Orlais follow us here, it seems.”

Solas eyes lost focus, and the corners of his mouth twitched down for a second as he adjusted his robes and picked up his staff. “ _Nuvenas, ar judara,_ ” he replied stiffly. “No expectations.”

Elswyth hitched a small breath; she felt pained by his reaction. “Come now _, Aneth Ara,_ we must rejoice for Gulbadan’s people, our people, all the peoples of the Inquisition. _Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireann na daoine,_ as an old Ostwick dialect would have it.”

Whatever emotion had passed to her from Solas, it was gone now, replaced by his more usual hum. “You may be correct in that, Elswyth. Some things call for standing together. The Mycenans have odd customs, indeed, but it is well worth sharing our own as well.”

They walked back to where Cosimo waited patiently. “If we do not learn of the ways of others, and teach ours in turn, we court irrelevance.”

“True. But there is a danger in this acceptance. The Elvhen could lose their way and become separated from themselves. Become something other than what they are truly meant to be.”

Elswyth sniffed at this sentiment. “Then the Elvhenor would be alone in their purity. What a sad thing.”

“You, the archivist, who like me studies of things past thinks this? Have you no pride in tradition?”

“Of course I do - there is strength in unity, in memory and tradition. Some things cannot be other than they are, in this world. Yet some change is inevitable. Stagnation leads only to atrophy and death.” 

“Surely there is something to be said for pride of purpose,” Solas said. “Or commitment to a goal?”

“A very little, if it leads to alienation. At what price comes such a victory? Anyone whose purpose leads them into friendlessness needs to choose more wisely. As you did when you joined us, and when you gifted the stone just now. Though I know how you like to show off. What is there to be proud of, if no one sees your work?”

Solas waved a hand, but said nothing about her comments. “So these elves who secreted themselves away from even the Dalish, are they really even elves if they no longer share the same customs? Either way, would it be boring or peaceful to be so singular, do you think?” he questioned.

Elswyth used a root to help swing herself up on to Cosimo’s bare back, her dress hitching up as she sat astride, her booted legs dangling. She looked down at Solas and said simply, “Yes.”

“To which question?”

“To both, peaceful and boring. Elvhen and not. Yes, Solas, yes! To the excruciating beauty of being alive - YES!” she said exuberantly. “Come now, _Duende_ , I choose to join the festivities, so we must make haste.”

Solas laughed, kissed her knee, bare above her boot, and using the root, slipped behind Elswyth and held onto her waist with one arm, his staff held in the other.

 

***

 

“Did you secure the cooperation of le Comte de Évreux?” Leliana asked Josephine as the two finished their meals. The bonding had been beautiful, and both women had had tears during the promises and request for blessing. The last of the sun was now sinking behind the Frostbacks, and though some, like the newlyweds, had retired to tents or left to ride back to Skyhold after the long day, the various peoples of the Inquisition were dancing and celebrating around several small bonfires.

“I did,” Josephine replied. “Though not without the assistance of Dame Elswyth. The count asked that she come personally to do the research; she of course agreed. I get the feeling she could have negotiated this sharing of information all by herself.”

Leliana smiled behind her wine glass. “Dame Elswyth plays the Game like an old hand. I agree with you, Josie. Your involvement was all politeness.”

Josephine put her own glass down. “What do you mean politeness? I do more than flatter and simper, as you well know.”

“But of course you do!” Leliana said. “I only mean that Dame Elswyth was just being polite, allowing the ambassador of the Inquisition to make public overtures that would not be refused - you can claim the win, no?”

Josephine frowned. “I thought that was too easy. What was the real price, Leliana?”

Leliana gestured to the shadows at the edge of the field where a languid Elswyth was being kissed by the young Comte de Évreux as she leaned against a tree, the picture of feminine surrender. “The usual price, with young noblemen and beautiful but forbidden women. We have yet to see how well she will play it.” 

The ladies watched through the flickering of the torches and small bonfires, as Elswyth drew out their kissing. The young comte whispered to Elswyth and gestured toward one of the tents. She demurred. They kissed again, but this time Elswyth’s hand roamed up the comte’s stockinged thigh and out of sight 

“I almost feel bad, watching this,” Josie said. “Poor boy doesn’t even guess he’s being strung along. Classic distraction technique.”

“We are not the only ones who watch them, Josie,” Leliana said, gesturing to Solas, who sat by the bonfire subtly making out with the young Dalish woman on his knee. A few others also cuddled and lounged around them as they listened to another Dalish mage tell a story from their lore. They were whispering back and forth, giving soft kisses and nips to ears and lower lips, but he was actually paying the young woman very little attention as he watched Elswyth even from his lowered gaze. Finally he stopped the young elf and murmured in her ear. Her face fell. She shrugged and nodded half-heartedly. He whispered to her again, and gave her a smack on the bottom. She went to her feet at once, and taking a few others with her, ran off into the woods. Solas stood and went to the horses, where he waited in the shadows.

Josie gave Leliana a wide-eyed stare, which Leliana answered with a shrug. Both continued to chatter about nonsense and pretended to eat their food. Blackwall came over and sat with the ladies, having put the last sleepy child on a pony cart for the castle. He noticed their odd behavior and asked, “What are we watchin’ for?” He picked up a chunk of bread and tore off a piece, buttering it in silence as he followed their lead.

“Shh,” Josie shushed him and poured him a drink. “We’re not sure yet.”

“But I bet it’s going to be good,” Leliana said, a naughty twinkle in her eye. “Dame Elswyth and the Herald make some play of their own with this library, but as their interests do not appear to be in contradiction of the Inquisition, it is a pleasure to watch. So too, are Elswyth and Solas contesting some sort of lovers’ spat." 

After a few minutes, a howl was heard from farther in the valley, and then another, and then a few more; a wolf howl call and response. Comte de Évreux started, as did the remaining horses, who began to stomp and shuffle. Cosimo merely picked up his head and sniffed the breeze, snorting big breaths of air.Solas spoke to him, but they were too far away to make out his words. Cosimo squealed, catching Elswyth’s attention from across the field.

The wolves called to each other again a little closer, and this time Elswyth pulled the young man back toward the fires and the horses. Several other pairs that had been at the fringes of the firelight also came in closer. Inquisition regulars patrolled the field, but none wanted to provoke the wild creatures.

Brycen, for once enjoying being the templar on duty, and Evander, one of Elswyth’s knights, joined the others at the table as they strained to listen for the Comte and Elswyth without appearing to listen. Leliana shoved a bun in Brycen’s mouth and put a finger to his lips as he tried to greet them. Blackwall shrugged at his puzzled glance and gestured to the approaching couple.

They all watched as Comte de Évreux followed close behind Elswyth, kissing her hand as they walked. Finally they were within earshot. He said, _“Je sais ce que tu penses, mais tu te trompes. Tu as une chance avec moi._ The nobles of my county are very liberal about these things. An elven mistress is nothing. We could be making love already, as we nearly did at the Winter Palace before that other elf, that drunken buffoon in the pointy hat interrupted us. I scraped my knees for you that night in the pleasure gardens, but even now _ma langue a faim de ta minou._ Tonight let us find somewhere softer to finally make the beast with two backs. Come to my bed Elswyth, be my _maîtresse-en-titre_ , I will drape you in luxuries. Leave the outdoors to the wolves.” He gestured to the direction the calls were coming from as they stopped in front of the horses.

Leliana punched Brycen when it looked like he was going to snigger. He pulled himself together and they kept listening.

Elswyth put her fingers on the comte’s mouth, stopping him from speaking. “You do have a wonderful tongue, Jean-Paul, but I must get Cosimo home, he grows nervous with the wolfsongs. We will have so much more time to enjoy each other when I come to your estate for the library. Nothing and no one will be able to come between us there,” they overheard her say. “The Winter Palace was a small thing to the delights we will find among your books. I will think on what you have asked of me, but I know I shall want to be covered in ropes of pearls, _ma chere_ comte,” she said, placing his hand on her breast, her peaked nipples visible against the fine blue silk of her dress. They kissed again, hands roving everywhere.Brycen made a soft mmm, mmm, mmm at the sight before getting another smack from Leliana. Josie and Blackwall smiled knowingly at each other before looking away. Evander remained aloof, preferring to sample the fancy Orlesian cheeses spread out on the table.

The wolves called to each other again, causing the pair to break apart once more. Elswyth straightened her dress while Jean-Paul shifted himself in his pants, adjusting himself and then his mask. “Shall we ride back together?” he asked hopefully.

A small smile twitched at the corner of Elswyth’s mouth. “That would be,” she stopped, noticing the figure leading Cosimo out of the shadows. “So nice, but not possible. I am charged with the care of a very old _hahren_ , and my duty is to return him to Skyhold in one piece. This one doesn’t much care for humans, and I believe we are ready to go, as you see.”

They all watched as a hooded figure lead Cosimo from the other tethered horses. He walked stooped on his staff, like an elder, but the foursome at the table knew who it was immediately - Solas.

Elswyth kissed the comte’s cheek. “You should stay, and find someone else to share the evening with, there is no shortage of beautiful women and elves here tonight.”

“ _Non_ ,” Jean-Paul said. “I willing wait for you. The wolves here spoil our sport, but _nous pouvons faire la danse du loup bientôt.”_

Blackwall and Josephine smiled at the play on words. Brycen looked at Evander, but he shrugged. Leliana whispered, “A euphemism.”

“You are too good to me, Jean-Paul,” Elswyth said. She used a small boulder to help her mount Cosimo, and the kind comte helped the old mage up behind her. Solas, for some reason, seemed bent on keeping his face and vigor hidden. In a reedy voice Solas thanked the human in common, and then said something else in elvish. Whatever it was made Elswyth angry, but she hid it well.

She set her leg to Cosimo, and they galloped off into the night, toward Skyhold. After a long gaze, the comte joined a circle of drunken nobles from Antiva at another fire.

Brycen whistled. “I hope Elswyth knows what she’s getting into - that was one powerful and jealous mage.”

“Is this templar skills, or did you catch what he said?” Leliana asked. “I am told you speak a little Elvhenor.”

“He speaks a very little Elvhenor,” Evander said. “But well enough for this purpose. Though have little fear - Ellie was angry with him, too, for what he said, and she's more than a match for most creatures. This Dreamer mage is no exception, though _tá sé beagán éad_ , to be sure.”

“A bit jealous? Just a bit?” Brycen asked in disbelief. “Solas always feels powerful, but now he's practically crackling with magic. And he said - _Dareth shiral, Haor, fenedhis lasa. As amen fen alas’niral, fen veren ash sil'ahn. “_ Which means, more or less, ‘go suck a wolf’s dick, Sheep - she makes the wolves dance but the wolves will have the answer.’ I don’t think Solas liked the competition, or Elswyth’s flirting.”

“Actually, its ‘wolf’ not ‘wolves.’ He said, ‘she will answer to the wolf’ not ‘the wolves will have the answer,’” Evander said. The two men argued over the translations for a bit, but in the end Brycen allowed that maybe Evander was more correct.

The wolves howled again, this time a little closer to camp, but then the elven woman and her friends came running and laughing out of the forest from the same direction as the wolf songs.

“They seem satisfied with themselves,” Blackwall commented. “I wonder if thatun t’was on his lap will be happy when she realizes Solas is gone?”

The young Dalish woman looked around the glen for her mage, and finding him gone, spat out a string of curses in the moonlight, upsetting some of the other elves. A small argument ensued between the Dalish woman and some other elves, but it was quickly calmed by Balgair. Indeed, soon they were sitting together by the fire, listening to the stories.

Evander tucked his long dark hair behind his pointed ears. “The _Yoriston_ , He of Ancient Lore, should know better than to toy with shape-shifting mages. He’ll have to watch his back. She just called down the Dread Wolf upon him - _Fen’Harel ver na_ , the Dread Wolf take you - a nasty curse, among my people,” Evander said. “Good thing one night with our fair fox and she’ll forget all about Solas.”

“And what about you, Evander? Will you not seek a bedfellow to share a tent with?” Leliana asked in her Orlesian accented Common. “More people than expected returned to Skyhold - a few are yet open. Brycen I know is unavailable, but are you on the menu? I hear such things about the men of Ostwick - it invites a tasting!”

Evander raised an eyebrow at the lovely redhead. “For one such as you,” he said, “I would be no _hors devours,_ but a many-houred banquet, Lady Nightingale. So I ask you, are you hungry?”

“I am famished,” she replied. They both stood and wandered off to find a tent.

Brycen, Josie, and Blackwall watched them go.

Josie held out her hand to Blackwall, who took it over the table.

“And that,” Brycen said, “is my cue to go back on patrol. Duty waits for no man - but this was the best dinner break I’ve had in awhile. And you two, _meal do naidheachd_ , don’t waste time worrying over propriety and rank. Now, good night to you both.”

 

***

 

Elswyth patted a freshly groomed Cosimo as he walked past her into his box stall. Then she walked through the main part of the barn to finally make her way back to her cottage. She was surprised to find Solas standing in the shadows outside the barn, simply staring at the ground, his hands behind his back. His frown, his mood, they frightened her, but they also made her furious. They hadn’t spoken a word on their trip back, instead letting their moods speak for themselves. She tried to walk by him quickly, but he caught her arm and yanked her back towards him, holding her just above the aurum cuffs that banded her upper arms 

He studied her, his expression and mood telling her he was very angry - and a little hurt? Finally he murmured, “What is this dress, Elswyth? Why this dress, this style? Why today, of all days?”

Her brows drew together as she looked down at her rumpled silk dress, a simple piece made of two lengths of blue silk, banded at the edges with gold ribbons and pinned at the shoulders with brooches. Other gold ribbons tied it under the bust and accented her long, slender waist. “I - I just made it, since our visit to the temple of Dirthamen. I dreamed of the design. I must have seen one like it at the temple.”

“You dreamt it?”

“We all dream, Solas. It is not a power exclusive to you - even the humans return to the Fade in their dreams,” she said sarcastically. “I dreamed of this dress, so I made it with some beautiful silk Dorian gave me from their last trip to Val Royeaux. I get an idea and I use what I have or can purchase here at Skyhold. Vella gave me piles of wolf pelts when she returned from that first campagne after I joined her. So when I made your robe, I used what I had available. All of the companions have wolf fur cloaks of some kind.”

 Solas held her still, and ran his thumb along the side-swells of her breasts. “This dress calls to me, you call to me. Today, when I saw it during the ceremony - and that you were bare under it - I have trembled with portent. I wanted to - I wanted you. That Orlesian boy is lucky I didn’t crush him where he stood.”

“Jean-Paul is decent and good, Solas, which isn't often found in Orlesian noblemen. You leave him be! You can't lay claim to me just to keep others away. You didn't have any trouble looking past the portent and into that girl’s small clothes.”

“I. tried. I followed your wishes until I could no longer bear it!” he barked. Solas ran one hand into her hair and tightened his grip. “You cannot take that boy seriously. He will use you and throw you away, just as all humans use the elves in this world,” he said, as he looked down at her, his voice deep with emotion. “You are _ma’ lin,_ and I forbid it, despite his promises.”

Elswyth struggled against his grip. “What? Is Pride jealous of a boy of twenty years? Or just upset he isn’t the only one who might get to use me and throw me away? Who are you to me that you use this word - forbid? I am not your blood.”

“But I am one who would protect you from anything, while I can. Do not be so foolish, Elswyth. When that boy has what he wants, you would be abandoned and alone.”

Elswyth’s face grew fierce, and her arm bands began to give off a dull glow until they gave off a flash of light. Solas released her as if he'd been shocked. They stepped away from each other, Solas considering the magic that had just skittered over his palms.

Elswyth twisted the aurum bands back into place. “I have faced that before. I know a _harellan_ when I see one. I survived then, I could survive it again, should it come to that,” Elswyth hissed at him. “I know what I am doing, or is that not possible either - are we elves all just too simple to understand what the elder _hahren_ knows from the Fade? Clearly we have no agency in this world, compared to the great apostate Solas.”

Solas dropped his hands. “What do you mean? Do you let him make love to you for some sort of plan? Are you Eyre Anwyn’s gift to him, so that the Inquisition might have his support?”

She snorted. “How small you are, _hahren._ I woo the boy so that we can get something from him, yes. What is it to you, if I enjoy my mission as well as meet my objectives? You have played games of your own here and at Halamshiral - or do you deny it?”

“I do what I must. You do what you are bid, like a slave. Like a common bed slave. Don’t you care what the humans have made you?” he asked quietly.

Elswyth slapped him, hard. “I fuck the boy or not by my own choice, not at anyone’s orders. I want what he has and I will get it. It's an insult to Eyre Anwyn, that you would think she would command this of me. It’s an insult to me that you think I would do it if she did command me. No one commands the Elswyth.”\

Solas held his cheek, but did nothing as they stared at each other in the darkness. “Whatever the reason, I - I would not see you do this.”

Elwyth laughed bitterly, and ran her hand up from her hip, over her breasts, and back down, the contact making her nipples puff and crinkle under the silk. “The oldest magic of our people called us, and you ignore it - you who would treat sacred magic like a casual throw fault me for a little intrigue. Your heart remains untouched, and you a pillar of pride. May you be happy, doing what you must,” she said disgustedly before she turned and walked away. “ _Juvenas u_.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish intentions:  
> “Ma’ Erelan, garas’em. Ar avy isalal na, Erelan ara.” - My dreamer, come back to me. I am desiring you, Dreamer of mine.  
> “Lasem bellanaris, ma sulahn ma’ nehn” - Given eternity, you sing my joy  
> “Ma’ nehn” - My joy  
> “Himasar … ivar’lina” - Wedding, to become one … pregnancy  
> “Nuvenas, ar judara” - Your wish is my command (you wish, I will go)  
> “Aneth Ara” - My safe place, my friend
> 
> Old Ostwick dialect (Irish Gaelic)  
> Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireann na daoine - Under the shelter of each other, people survive
> 
> Orlesian (French)  
> Je sais ce que tu penses, mais tu te trompes. Tu as une chance avec moi - I know what you think, but you're wrong. You have a chance with me.
> 
> ma langue a faim de ta minou - my tongue is hungry for your kitty
> 
> nous pouvons faire la danse du loup bientôt - we can do the wolf dance soon
> 
> The other elvish gets translated in the story. Much thanks to Elven DAI at Lingojam.com - all mistakes mine :-)


	44. Whispers of Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen receives news from Trevelyan and takes on Kieran as a squire. Elswyth soothes some ruffled feathers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Got distracted by writing the Game of Thrones piece. 
> 
> Things should pick up with publishing chapters. I have 1-2 chapters to write and then a bunch already written.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

 

***

~~~ Dispatch from Redcliffe Castle to Skyhold ~~~

 

Man of Legend -

I am heartbroken for you, all over again. I fully agree, no accidents before Adamant. Now that I’ve worked through an epic fit of pique, I will say I admire your temerity in standing up to me, Commander, and that you have my respect and devotion.

However, perhaps we should talk more, about the exact nature of love-making and baby-making.I can assure you, I am well versed on both topics. When the time comes, arrangements can be made. You might consider speaking to Illia so that you have a full understanding of preventative measures.

Please though, consider coming back to my bed, to sleep as we did those precious weeks. I will behave. I will wear boring pajamas. I just want you near me, Sweet Andymion.

Ever Your Goddess,

Trevelyan

 

~~~

 

When he’d returned from lunch to the letter on his desk, he had not known what his fate would be, what the fate of his relationship with Trevelyan would be. Now Cullen breathed a sigh of relief, the weight that had been settled over his chest dissipating. He felt both grateful she understood his fear and mortified he presumed she didn’t know her own body. He should seek out Illia, as embarrassing as that conversation would be, it might also relieve some of his anxiety.

At the sound of his office door unlatching, he put the letter to the side, and looked up from his other work at the desk. Elswyth appeared, looking a little sad. “Is this a good time?” she asked.

“For you Elswyth, my door is always open,” he said pleasantly. When Trevelyan was out of the castle, Elswyth visited with him, helped around the edges of the army, the diplomats, and the spies, as well as seeing to the well-being of those at the castle and the camps. She brought in amusements and learning - often across cultural groups. She made everything easier, as well as conducted her own research and efforts directly for Trevelyan. They were lucky to have her. Cullen had only been used to Templar holdings and Circle Towers. Her touches made him feel like Skyhold was more the seat of a Great House and family. Perhaps there were some good things about the trappings of nobility. It was why, whenever Elswyth needed something from him, he was happy to oblige.

“I would like to introduce you to young master Keiran, if that’s alright? I know Vella spoke to you about tutoring him,” she said, stepping in but holding at the door.

Cullen nodded.The boy’s mother had helped Solona save Cullen at the Circle Tower, which is why he’d agreed to do this for Vella. “I look forward to it. Bring him in.”

Elswyth stepped into the room, bringing the boy with her. They stopped in front of Cullen’s great desk. Cullen looked at Kieran, who stood relaxed but interested at Elswyth’s side.

“Commander Cullen, I present Kieran Morriganson. Kieran, Commander Cullen has the charge of all of the forces of the Inquisition, and is himself a trained Templar. Commander, Kieran is just learning to ride a horse, and is a great favorite of Grim’s, like you,” she said.

“How are you finding horseback riding?” Cullen asked. “I understand you now have a pony?”

“I love it, Commander. Ser,” the boy said. “Goblin is the best, best, best pony ever. Is it true you ride Grim? He lets me sit on him while we’re talking, but I'm not allowed to tell him what to do yet.”

“Yes, I ride him, but like you I am still learning. Tre - The Inquisitor is the true expert,” Cullen said. “So tell me, what is it you’d like to learn from me?” Cullen already knew what had been discussed between Trevelyan and Morrigan, but as the boy would be his pupil, he would like to know his thoughts.

“I would like to know how to use a sword, but I feel like that's not as important as some other things, like why and when to use a sword. I haven't been allowed to even touch a weapon, but I have been taught chess. That's all about when and why,” the boy said. “Seems like they should all go together.”

Cullen sat up straighter. “A better answer than many grown men, Kieran,” he said. “Thank you, Elswyth, I think we’ll be fine now. I wonder though, would you join me for dinner at the Herald’s Rest? I want to catch up on the wedding and such, all the other things that I’ve missed since being on maneuvers.”

Elswyth smiled. “Of course, Commander. We both have gossip to catch the other up on. It would be a welcome distraction. I'll fetch you, when the hour is appropriate. That way you can keep working.”

Cullen stood and bowed to her. “I’ll await your rescue,” he said.

She gave Kieran an encouraging nod and left with a wave to them both.

Cullen came around the desk to stand in front of Kieran. “How old are you?”

“Ten summers,” Kieran said.

Cullen nodded. The boy was tall for his age, but proportional. He would do well with sword and shield, but a two handed weapon might not be out of the question, in the future. As a mage he should learn to truly use a stave as a weapon on its own.

“Come, let us see Blackwall and the armorer.We’ll need some small wooden practice swords, and you should also have a proper practice blade for your size. Nothing too dangerous, but enough that you’ll get a feel for the weight. And I will introduce you to Cassandra. She practices almost everyday, so you can watch her. You can learn almost as much from watching as you can from doing. Action is exciting, it achieves results, but without thought, it may be a waste of effort or at cross purpose to the true objectives.”

“Yes, Commander. Ser. What should I call you?” Kieran asked as they walked out to see Blackwall.

“Just call me Ser Cullen or Ser, when we are training, just like any other squire,” Cullen said, pausing. The boy felt like a mage, but a bit - muffled. To a less experienced Templar it might feel like the boy was a weak mage, but Cullen dismissed this feeling. It was more like his magic was being held down or held back in some way. He had half a mind to ask Morrigan about it, as she might have cast something to help the boy pass when they were at the Orlesian court. However, he didn’t think he would get a straight answer. Instead he asked Kieran, “What kind of mage are you? Do you know yet?”

Kieran shrugged. “I can cast some fire spells and a healing spell and a mind blast and I have one shape so far, a little bird. My mother says not to rush things, but she has been teaching me. Lately I have also been working with Dorian and Grand Enchanter Fiona. Mostly we just talk about magic and the nature of magic.”

“That does seem important, for a mage,” Cullen said. He wondered whether or not they should discuss the nature of reality as well, from the Templar perspective, or if that would be unwise. He’d worked with the children at the Monastery, but all of them were mundanes and destined for the Templars. He’d never stood as knight to a mage before. Perhaps it would be best to stick to martial skills until he knew the boy better.

They spoke briefly with Blackwall, who agreed to make some small sturdy swords, as well as be available for practice. Cullen and Blackwall had formed a sound friendship, discussing plans for the Inquisition, tactics for the Inquisitor, drills for the armies, and sitting silently together with a single malt and the horrors of battle. Then Kieran and Cullen walked to the forge.

The smith greeted Cullen warmly, “Och, Commander, you’ve been too long from the castle. Skyhold isn’t the same without both her mistress and her master. Up to all kinds of frills and falderall, I am sure.”

“You don’t like weddings? Cullen said, clasping hands with the smith.

“I like ‘em fine, but those lasted all day and night, and left at least one apprentice here too sick to work and raving over shapeshifting she-wolves. Elswyth smoothed it over, but still,” the old man ran a hand over his mostly bare head, his grey hair and grizzled beard already sweaty with the work of his day.

Cullen knew the type - he’d been the type, perhaps still was in many ways. All about the job, no distractions, no exceptions. Excellence in all things. All things except living. “I understand. Young men don’t appreciate the chances they have been given. Nor the importance of what you do. Without you, our soldiers could not fight,” Cullen said.

“Too true, Commander,” the man said with a sigh. Then he looked at Kieran, who stood next to him. “But then, what do we fight for, if not frills and falderall?”

“A wise observation, Master Smith, and why we have come to you today. The young man here needs a practice sword,” Cullen said, glad to switch topics.

The smith nodded. “Nothing we have for the troops would be appropriate, would it? Let me see, let me see,” the smith said, going to his workbench and fussing about with some tools and piles, finally finding a piece of marked cloth. Then he proceeded to take several measurements of Kieran’s hands and arms, as well as his height. He scribbled all this down on a scrap of parchment, all the while muttering to himself under his breath.

“Done,” he finally said. “I’ll make it a little bigger than it should be, to account for growth, and with the standard dull edges and point. It’ll be a week at least, though. We’re getting ready for Adamant, as you know.”

“Of course, Master Smith. As soon as is practical. We will begin with wooden swords and staves first,” Cullen commented. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, Master Smith,” Kieran said.

“Use it well, young squire,” the smith said. “Taking your studies seriously is thanks enough.”

Cullen took Kieran to Cassandra’s practice area, and handing him a blank wooden stave, taught him a few motions to practice that would prepare him for sword work. After a time, he left the boy to practice and returned to his duties. They had agreed to meet everyday in the late afternoons, when he wasn’t meeting with Trevelyan, or just after. He'd mentored groups of young Templar recruits, but never one as a proper squire. Cullen wondered if the boy would qualify as a hobby as Varric kept telling him he needed one.

His work was it’s usual combination of fascinating, banal, and frightening. Tactics for Adamant had taken up the morning, trying to put together the things they’d learned from the war games with the Chargers with the information about the fortress and known Grey Warden strengths and weaknesses. After meeting with Kieran, Cullen and Greta worked on the logistics of keeping the army on its feet and moving. Then he met with Fiona and her team regarding how to best fight the Wardens and demons. That meeting was short, but powerful.

Cullen checked the last set of orders for the troop movements to Val Firmin. They were going to start the final push as soon as the Inquisitor returned and settled her own orders and affairs. Into the west, against demons and Grey Wardens, some of the most powerful warriors and mages in Thedas. He would have to watch her walk in there, support her in what she needed to do, and never let her see how terrified he was feeling. He took a deep breath and knelt to pray.

 

***

 

It’s how Elswyth found him when she came to get him for dinner, knelt next to his desk praying. She stopped at the door and watched him for a moment. Vella was taking a much different course with this one. Daire had been everyone’s desire and he had chosen Vella. The cheerful whelp of a human that came after his loss was understandable, given Vella’s heartbreak; the smattering of hot bad boys, the handful of Fair Folk, the pirate prince, they all had their places. But this one, this grave, pious, circumspect human, he was a very different choice for her wild, wanton, adventurous friend. They came from very different worlds, had very different callings. Elswyth worried for both of them, sweet as they were together.

She waited politely, sending up a prayer of her own, that the future would be kind, or at least gentle, with them both. She smiled when she saw Cullen finish his prayers and open his eyes. “Time for dinner, Commander. Some rescue and relaxation is called for, I think,” she said.

“Lead me away, Elswyth, and keep me away for the next few hours, a least,” he said, as he walked over to the door leading to the wall walk to the Herald’s Rest, opened it and gestured to Elswyth.

Elswyth walked over, asking, “Are we missing Vella?”

They both walked slowly along the wall walk, Cullen with his hands behind his back as usual, looking dour and competent, and Elswyth the image of a great lady, her head covered modestly and her hands tucked into the bell sleeves of her dress. They both greeted the guards on duty before he answered, waiting for privacy.

“More than I can say. Especially now that I know she’s not mad at me,” he said with a wry smile.

“Hmm, the Queen’s interruption was problematic I take it?” she teased.

“You could say that,” Cullen said. Elswyth could almost see his mind working out his next words. “Could you - would you tell me - have many men asked for Vella’s hand?”

Elswyth laughed. “Yes, many. The Trevelyan as was turned down many offers, and the Young Trevelyan gets them still. But they are all turned away. Vella has no need of a husband.”

“But bride prices and bloodlines, heirs and spares, don’t these things matter?”

Elswyth shrugged. “To some, but not to Vella. Nor to The Trevelyan, who has no real say in the matter. Mostly they answer for her out of tradition and because it's just easier. The fact of Vella’s parents happy Chantry marriage is rather unusual for the ladies of the Nicnavin,” she answered, studying him for clues as to what he really wanted or needed to know. “Matrilineal clans don't need to worry too much about legitimacy, when it comes to lovers and children.”

“Really? Ostwick must be an odd place. Ferelden has bastards, or course, but most people use polite euphemisms or distant family to cover them up, and affairs are rarely discussed,” Cullen said.

“Commander, is this your polite way of worrying about Trevelyan’s reputation?”

“Well, I guess,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “The Queen and the nobles from Gwaren, even the gentry, they made it seem like this poor girl was a social pariah and would be even after the baby was born. They made it seem like the best Lady Howenna could hope for was that Captain Martin marry her, and even then it wouldn’t be completely acceptable since he was outside of her class. If that should happen to us, I would, I would do the honorable thing, but I don't feel worthy of her, Elswyth. She clearly has some importance in Ostwick, I would hate to cause problems for her.”

Elswyth stopped and reached out to Cullen, taking his hand. “Her family will have concerns, but won't yours fret over your happiness, too? Ostwick has its traditions, and Vella has her place in them, but she is free to choose, in all things. The only person you need to worry about is Vella,” she said. “Think of her as you would any woman.”

“Any woman? The Herald of Andraste? The one who closed the hole in the sky?” Cullen asked incredulously.

Elswyth waved her other hand. “Fine, fine. Why not think of her as Satina, too, if you must? A goddess she may be, but she’s chosen you, Man of Legend. Can you act in her interest?”

“Of course. I always do.”

“Then worry no more,” Elwyth said, taking both his hands. “Be as you are, as you always have been no doubt, and it will be enough for Vella.”

Cullen squeezed her hands. “Thank you, Elswyth. For the advice.”

“Of course,” she said, dropping their hands. “Now let’s eat. You must tell me all about the Queen Dowager and you must hear all the juicy gossip about the wedding, especially about the Lady Ambassador and Lady Nightingale. Might even the odds at the War Council, though I know you're too much the gentleman to ever tease them back.”

 

***

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	45. Into the West

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition makes the moves necessary to prepare the Western Approach for the attack on Adamant Fortress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay!

 

***

Trevelyan, Solas, Sera, and Bull stood next to each other in the Craggy Ridge camp, looking over the maps of the available ruins and terrain between them and Griffon Wing Keep. The camp quartermaster and a few high ranking Inquisition soldiers stood quietly on the other side of the table.

“We will need to clear the Venatori and bandit camps that litter the plain between us and the keep,” Bull said, gesturing to the map. “No point in any covert action against the keep with them still in place. They also make a direct assault harder, if the main force has to keep fending them off.We’ve secured the surrounding area even to the point of building a bridge over the poison gas area here, but we don’t yet have the troops for a traditional frontal assault on a keep of this size. However, intelligence tells us that Griffon Wing is only being held by a skeleton crew of Venatori. If we control supply lines, we could wait them out.”

“I am not sure we have that kind of time. Maker knows what is going on at Adamant,” Trevelyan said. “We need this keep as the final knot in the noose around the fortress.”

“I agree, Boss. I’m only outlining the safe plan first because I promised Cullen I would at least present it. We could always just march up to the keep, bang the door down and have a good old-fashioned stand-up fight. My horns tingle at the very thought,” Bull answered, giving the tip of a horn a good tug.

“Well they absolutely wouldn’t be expecting that,” Trevelyan said with a grin. “And it would certainly come to a quick conclusion, either way.”

“Indeed,” Solas said. “But not necessarily the one we should hope for, in the end. With speed we can preserve some intelligence from destruction, but perhaps we should use a more cautious approach. The Venatori mages are powerful spellcasters.”

Trevelyan looked at the marks on the map. “We will clear the smaller camps so we can take a closer look at this Griffon Wing Keep. Sera, I will need your thinking at that point. Surely the Jenny’s know how to skulk about a keep undetected.”

“Now Inky, you know I can’t give away all of her secrets. But I’m happy to take a look, once we’ve kicked some Venatori arse from the plains. Faster we get this done, the faster I can get the sand out of my - everywhere,” Sera responded.

Trevelyan studied the map, but before she could answer a scout approached at speed.

“Inquisitor! A message for you!”

She took the note and dismissed the scout, pausing to open and read the missive. “Solas, they’ve finished measuring the veil strength and need you to help analyze what they’ve found. You’re going to have to return to Skyhold at once.”

Solas stood up straighter. “But if I do that you will be a man down and won’t have magical backup. I should wait until we’ve taken the keep.”

The familiar hum of Solas’ magic crackled along Trevelyan’s skin, causing the anchor to pulse dully across her palm. It had been some time since this feeling had passed between them. She rubbed her palm on her thigh and blushed in confusion.

“The Anchor is more volatile here. It could behave unpredictably. Without my expertise you could be in more danger than usual,” he said, a spark of concern dallying in his eyes at her blushes. “Here, where the veil is so thin, it is not a place to be reckless _Dor’inan_.”

Trevelyan fiddled with her gauntlet, avoiding looking at the harhen.“I can send for Dorian or Vivienne. Both are here in Orlais. I believe our plans for predicting where rifts might occur is as important as taking Griffon Wing.”

Bull grunted in agreement. “But you know the Commander will want your party at full strength before going for the keep. We could take this first bandit camp here tonight as planned,” he pointed to the map. “Where are Dorian and Vivienne?”

“Vivienne is in Val Firmin, smoothing the negotiations for the rest of the mounts, the Hang-Tooths. Dorian is with Elswyth in the Deauvin Flats,” Trevelyan answered.

“Deauvin Flats? Where is that, even?” Sera asked.

“It’s at the Southern end of the Dales, west of the Emerald Graves. Dorian accompanied Elswyth to _Chateau Pacifique,_ the family seat of the Count de Évreux. She wanted his help with some research.”

“Madam Vivienne is closer. We should send for her,” Bull said. “Besides, her cold magic might carry more of a punch out here in the desert.”

“Pfft,” Sera said. “She may be closer, but all you really want is to get her to cast one of those ice mines and set if off to cool down. Did I forget to mention you’re too afraid of her to ask for one?”

“Aw, Mufty. She reminds me of my Tama, the Tamassran that raised me. Got to respect the Tamassran,” Bull said sheepishly.

Sera punched Bull softly on the arm. “Sorry Big’un. I tease how I tease.”

Bull shook his head at her, then changed the subject. “So we attack the first camp tonight, like I said, and then Solas could set out in the morning to Skyhold. The Inquisition regulars could move in behind us, leaving us free to move on the Venatori camp on the nearside of the keep.”

“What do you think, Solas? Will you take one night’s delay as a compromise?”

Solas shrugged distractedly, tracing a finger over the Deauvin Flats on the map. “It is a good solution,” he whispered.

“Very well, we will hit the bandit camp after full dark tonight. Ready your potions and packs and then get some rest,” she said to her companions. To the Inquisition soldiers and quartermaster she said, “Have troops prepared to follow and secure the camps along behind us. Make sure they have the right kind of armor and hoods for these conditions. We could all use head coverings when the wind picks up the sand. More to the point, let’s make it look like the camps are just full of bandits. We can use every bit of complacency the enemy will give us.”

The Inquisition staff saluted and went off to execute the orders, while the companions left with a nod to their leader. Trevelyan studied the map, ordered her potions, and sharpened her blades. Then she headed to her tent where she stripped out of her clothes and bathed quickly, throwing on her lightest linen shirt before settling down for a nap, hoping her wet hair would cool her enough to sleep. 

***

When Vella woke sometime later, the light in her tent showed the sun was sinking into early evening. She stepped to the flap of her tent and pushed it back. Instead of being greeted by the hiss of sand over the plains and soldiers complaining about the heat, she was met by the soft humidity and splashing noises of a canyon oasis.

She stepped into the oasis valley from her tent and followed the sounds to the edge of a pool, the impulse to swim growing with each footstep. She tugged her shirt off and threw it over a limb of a shrub tree that was growing close to the water’s edge. The cool water was heaven on her feet and ankles and she quickly walked farther into the pool, if only to sink under its embrace as soon as she was deep enough. She floated there, soothed by the sound of the falls.

But an irregular splashing caught her attention so she followed it, annoyed by the break in her peace.

As she swam through the mist that hung above the pool, she saw a male form standing under the falls. She hid in some dawn lotus blooms once she saw him step from the falls.

Solas. He gleamed in the pale glow of the canyon, his flawless alabaster skin almost calling the light to it. Her breath held when she saw him run his hands over wet hair that hung to his waste. He twisted the cinnamon length around a slim wrist to squeeze out the extra water and pulled it over his shoulder, water running down his chiseled chest and past his waking member.

Behind him, wispy spirits splashed in the water, their giggling sounding only a little over the voice of the falls. Though they splashed and teased him, he only had a gaze for the figure asleep under a gauzy tent on the shore.

Vella could see the person from behind, a slim figure draped in a pale green silk dress. A rounded hip rose from the caress of the silk to show a bare thigh and leg, a low scoop making the snowy flesh of her lower back plain to the eye.

Solas twitched the sheer curtain from his path as he entered the tent. He dropped smoothly to his knees and sat looking at the woman, his expression a mix of longing and sorrow. He ran fingers along her bare leg slowly, softly.

She made a small noise and shifted so that she brushed at her thigh with the small book in her hand. Once Solas stopped his caresses she sighed and fell more deeply asleep, dropping the book behind her.

Solas leaned over and kissed the woman’s knee slowly, ending with a soft lick before moving up her leg, drawing a gasp from the sleeper. He kept going, inching up her legs, gently coaxing her to stretch and roll to her back.

Vella was transfixed by the seduction, open mouthed in surprise and desire. She could almost taste Solas’ lust and feel the tickle of his hair as it brushed against the woman’s body.

He slid the smooth length of the skirts away from his lover’s sex and stopped. He whispered, “ _Ar Tualath, sathan ma’nehn_. Allow me this, as punishment, as peace offering. I know you’ve always wondered what I was like, when I was younger.”

The woman, now roused but still passive, coiled her fingers into his locks, running her fingers through it’s wavy length almost as if it gave her strength.“Like blood and fire held in the chalice of the Goddess, lips to shame the petals of a rose, and a tongue to woo the very heart from your chest,” she murmured before she tugged his face back into her lap.

Elswyth, the woman was Elswyth. But how was this possible, Vella wondered, knowing her friend was nowhere near the Western Approach. An idea tickled her mind, but Elswyth’s moans distracted her.

Solas hummed happily in Elswyth’s lap, as she accepted the caresses of his hands and tongue. Her pleased noises also drew the attention of the spirits, who watched from the edges of the pool much like Vella.

She felt like she shouldn’t be watching this, that something was not quite right about the scene before her, but couldn’t place the source of her disquiet. She wasn’t in any danger. And the water felt glorious on her bare flesh. Vella rolled onto her back in the shallow water, letting her hands please her own body as she listened to Solas give pleasure to Elswyth.

“ _Vena nehn, ma vhenan, sathan_. Please, _ma’ lin_ , find your joy,” Solas whispered after some time, almost as if it was in Vella’s own ear. She mewled in surprise, even as she heard Elswyth cry out in bliss.

Vella rolled to her side to watch the couple under the tent. They were silent, though Elswyth twirled a length of Solas' hair around one of her fingers. 

“Gods balls, you’re sublime here, like this, Solas, with this glory of hair,” Ellie said.

Solas kissed her finger tips before he said, “Am I forgiven then? I had no right to order you about like that, I know. It won’t happen again.”

Elswyth fell back in to the pillows strewn behind her in the tent. “You are more beautiful and pleasing in this place than any other, but I deserve more than a simple apology. I am too old to have my head turned by the stuff of dreams, want more than a Fade-crossed promise. Now go play with your adoring spirits and leave me to my nap,” Elswyth said forcefully.

Vella felt the water ripple and turned toward the pair. The tent and Elswyth were gone, leaving this younger Solas lying alone on the beach.

The spirits crowded him, teasing him until they coaxed him into the water where they chattered in their bubbling language and splashed with him while he swam. Vella made her way back the way she had come, thinking it was a good time to get away.

Just as she began to rise out of the water, strong arms caught her about the waist and pulled her back into the pool. Vella reached back to steady herself, only to find herself grasping Solas’ bare thigh.

“What naughty spirits you are, conjuring _Dor’inan_ to distract me from my woe. Do you not recall the immoderate passion of my youth, sweet nymph?” he asked amusedly as he pressed her against his hard body, kissing her shoulder, his hair falling along her arm and back.

She indulged herself in the pleasure of feeling his unyielding body pressed against hers, arched her back into him in invitation.

“Perhaps you do remember,” he said sliding his long, hard member between her thighs.

Vella took a moment to bask in the pull of strong arms, to relish the sensual caresses along her netherlips, to savor the taste of this magic on her tongue. Each undulation of their hips brought him that much closer to slipping inside her. What sweet ecstasy it would be, to join with this warrior mage, a prince among princes.What a dream, she thought as she arched back against him, his long hands running over her breasts and sex.

 _What a dream?_ The thought made her gasp - what if she was not alone in this dream?

“Solas,” she murmured, the guilt in enjoying this moment now plain to her. “Solas, no matter what you say, Fade sex absolutely counts and I would never hurt Cullen in this way.”

“ _Dor’inan? Truly?_ ” Solas asked. “In the Fade - again?”

Vella turned in his arms to look him in the eye. They stared at each other for a moment. Gods, he was heartbreakingly beautiful, this warrior elf. Glorious, just as Elswyth had said.

Vella didn’t move to cover herself or leave his embrace; somehow the very idea seemed silly, in this place. Instead she closed her eyes and rested her forehead on his. “We dreamwalk again.”

“So it seems.”

“I am going to wake now. You should come to me, when you can. We must talk,” she said, stepping away from him.

Solas shimmered and appeared as she usually knew him, bald and more washed out than alabaster, though hardly less attractive.

Vella walked out of the pool and into her tent.

***

Vella jerked awake on her cot. Her shirt was damp and clung to her in the dark of her tent. She ran her hands through her messy hair, trying to make sense of her dreamwalk. She’d known Elswyth and Solas had had a fight, but it was clearly worse than she thought. It was unlike Ellie to be so cold, so unforgiving.

And what of young Solas? Whatever Solas was now, he’d been another thing entirely in his youth. Vella knew from their first dreamwalk that Solas was very old, and from the Venery very powerful, but even this conjured memory of the warrior prince he had been made her tremble.

Only her love for Cullen had stopped her from Fade fucking the harhen until they shook the very Veil itself. Knowing Solas would come to her soon, she pulled on her clothes, wishing to avoid any temptations.

An hour passed, but as the camp began to stir for dinner, she heard his voice at the flap to her tent. “Inquisitor, it is Solas. May I come in?”

She moved to the table and sat, not wanting to be anywhere near the bed. “Please enter,” she said, not really wondering at their formality.

He came in without looking at her, a supplicant in body language even before he spoke. “Forgive me, I beg you, for my indecent breach of our friendship. I thought you were one of my spirit friends taunting me. Had I known it was really you I would never have been so aggressive, so free with your body.”

“Hmm,” she said. “Is this dreamwalking evidence of what you said about the Veil being thin here?”

“I believe that it is. I had called to Elswyth as I slept; I missed her. I was hoping to see her and apologize for the argument we had while you were in Ferelden. You and Elswyth are close - it is possible that the Anchor found us and pulled you to us through the thinning Veil. Her rejection hurt me, so I acted rashly,” he answered, bringing his hand from behind his back. “I brought you this, to make amends.”

It was a band of sylvanwood with small figures carved upon it. “It is a keeper’s ring. I have changed the enchantment slightly to suit you. It is the best I could do this quickly. It will keep us apart as we dream,” he said. “It will serve as a warning if you’re getting too close to me. Then we can both - move away.”

“How come we haven’t needed this before?” she asked.

“At Skyhold our chambers are far apart, and the protections of Skyhold grow stronger with each passing moon. The first time you came to my dream you thought you were awake and sought me out. This time I believe it was an accident brought on by our physical proximity and the growing power of that Anchor,” he said.

“But we’ve slept in the same tent in the field for months now, even back to back and this hasn’t happened,” she pushed.

“Yes, but nowhere else is the Veil this thin. Please, _Dor’inan_. Trust me, this is for the best. I am sure neither of us would have our careful plans harmed again. We must think of Cullen and Elswyth.”

She offered him her right hand.

“It shouldn’t interfere with your gauntlets or daggers,” he said as he took her hand to slip the ring on her finger, muttering a spell under his breath as he did so. “Again, pease forgive any trespass in the Fade.”

“It is a comfort, Solas,” she said when he was done. “But there is nothing for me to forgive. I allowed your touch because I believed I was just dreaming - just normal dreaming. It seems that my feelings for Cullen are strong enough to pull me away from one of the most beautiful elves I have ever known. Let us just agree that we tempt each other, and leave it at that.”

Solas made a prim bow. “Cullen is a worthy man. Though in another time, Grey Eyes, I might have been his rival.”

“But in this one I think Elswyth is all you really want,” she said with a small smile. “I was there for her dismissal of you. Are you going to be ok if she doesn’t forgive you?”

“It has been - some time since my last heartbreak. I am not good at it,” he said softly. “I hold out some hope she will forgive me. It is unusual to find this kind of kismet.”

“Gods willing she sees fit to forgive you then, my friend,” Vella said.

“From your speech to the lady’s ears. I shall see you later, in battle,” Solas answered as he slipped out of the tent.

***

The bandits were easily defeated and once the Regulars had moved into the camp to support the Inquisitor, the party bid farewell to Solas. Just before dawn he mounted a dracolisk and was gone with only a small nod to the Inquisitor. A few days later, Vivienne appeared out of the shifting sands of the Western Approach and soon the Venatori camp at the base of the Keep was no more.

Sera peeped out of the tent as they waited for the sun to pass it’s zenith. “Inky,” she said merrily, “I need to take a wander around this keep and sadly I think this is the time to do it. The guard will hardly notice a shimmer and glimmer in’nis heat. And they’d never be able to hit me even if their brains weren’t too cooked to aim.”

“Would you like some company, Sera? My stealth’s as good as yours,” the Inquisitor asked.

“Nah, I know what I’m looking for and I’m not about to have the Commander angry with me again,” she said, shaking her head. Then she puffed out her chest and lowered her voice, “Maker’s Breath, Sera. Must I tell you again about unnecessary risks to the Inquisitor’s person?”

Vella smiled. “He didn’t actually say that did he?”

“Ay, Inky. After we went sledding on the glacier. He was real put out - something about the Avvars and avalanches. Pfft. As if an avalanche was a danger to the Herald of Andraste,” Sera said with an eye roll as she adjusted her linen cowl, preparing to head out into the heat of the desert.

“I very nearly didn’t survive the last one, Sera, all your confidence notwithstanding. Perhaps Cullen has a point, about our adventures.”

Sera waved a hand. “I’ve been thinking about it Inks. A Jenny got me some candy coated chocolate bits - something new for the Commander’s cookies. We’re good for at least four pranks, easy.” Then she slipped out of the tent to reconnoiter Griffon Wing Keep.

***

 

 


	46. Assault on Griffon Wing Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The attempt to take the keep has mixed consequences.

***

“Dammit,” Trevelyan spit out softly, catching her fall on the wall of the cavern.

“You ok, Boss?” Bull whispered.

“Fine, fine, I just banged my shin on a rock. It’s fine.”

With a whoosh, Vivienne started the torches and the group was finally able to look around.

“But I thought you were a cold-powered mage?” Bull said, a little shocked.

“Please, Darling. Every little mage learns how to bring fire to candles and whatnot. It’s one of the first things taught at the Circle,” Vivenne said with a wave of her hand. Then she ran her hand over her nose. “I’d ask what that smell is, but I fear I already know. There are dead bodies down here.”

Sera gagged, then threw up, making everyone else groan. “Inks, I’m sorry,” she said finally. “It’s not like I could tell from the outside of the cavern, what with the force field. I just knew it had to be the well or the sewers.”

“No matter, we’re here and I can see the bottom of the well, and a bucket. Hush now or all of this will have been for naught, “ Trevelyan said.

They waded through the water and located the bodies. Sera gagged again, but didn’t throw up. Trevelyan whispered to the group. “Sera’s going up first to snipe any guards and find the high ground. I’ll go next, followed by Bull. That way we can give Vivienne some cover as she comes up. Standard attacks, keeping quiet as long as possible. Yes?”

Everyone nodded and Sera climbed up the bucket rope. Once she cleared the well wall, Trevelyan followed.

Sera had already taken out one of the guards when Vella appeared at the top of the well. Sera pointed up to the ramparts. Vella nodded, then both women set out in search of others. Vella snuck up on one more guard, a knife to the throat taking him out silently. She heard the hiss-thwak of Sera’s bow finding another target, and moved through the tower, climbing stairs and ladders to meet up with Sera. They nodded to each other in the darkness and moved back to the well where Bull and Vivienne now waited. They moved to the cover of the hall leading to the guard overlook for the front gate.

Sera quickly dispatched the guards outside in front of the gates, and the group huddled in the relative cover of the hall.

“This front yard would have been - should have been - a kill box, given the elevations and the one stairway to the upper level of the keep. We should see if the ramparts have another route. As much as I want to go charging up those stairs, I don’t think it would be a good idea,” Bull said.

Vella peeked out from where they stood. The wall of the tower keep loomed over the looked like the other side of the courtyard offered a better chance at moving forward. “All right let’s move over there to see if that’s a better way to go.”

They moved quietly, one at a time across the courtyard, up the stairs, and then up the ladder. After a quick search, they discovered a crumbling corner of the next level of ramparts. It offered purchase for hands and feet seeking to climb.

Bull shook his head. “Too noisy for me,” he whispered. Then he pointed to Sera and made a tossing motion. She grinned and nodded like a mad woman, rubbing her hands in delight and anticipation. He stood on the top of a treasure chest, and she climbed up beside him. After some gesturing and shoving that would have been comic if not in the middle of storming a castle, Bull gave Sera a tremendous hoist.She seemingly flew up past the rubble and somersaulted silently out of sight. The soft sting of her bow could be heard again - once, twice - before she appeared in the moonlight, giving them the thumbs up.

Bull looked at Vivienne and gestured again, silently asking if she would like the same lift. The mage stood up straight and glared at him. He shrugged and climbed down from the box, following behind Vella and Vivienne as they moved to the courtyard stairs.

“We’ve gotta go fast, so hit them hard and heavy,” he said as he pulled out his great sword and moved to the bottom of the stairs.

The ladies looked at each other, both shaking their heads. They had been at war for several seasons already. As if there was any other way to hit the Venatori.

Vella nodded and they all ran up the stairs, Bull first, Vella stealth-cloaked and just behind him with Vivienne following far enough back to give her space to cast and foil any ranged fighters.

They were attacked from the right by several Venatori gladiators, while Vella looked for the stalker that would no doubt be trying to flank them.

Bull swung his greatsword with purpose, cutting one gladiator down quickly while taking damage from the other. Sera was engaging with the marksmen on the far wall, leaving Vivienne free to further weaken their adversaries with cold and snow.

Vella found the stalker and pulled him from Bull’s blindside before he could do any real damage to the giant tank. Vella took several dagger cuts, but managed to put the Venatori down quickly. Then just as she was moving to Bull’s flank, she felt a shot through her leg and foot that pinned her to the spot. As she fought to get to cover behind some boxes inside Sera’s bow range a tingling came over her and her blades began to hmm.

Bang!

Being knocked from her feet and flying into the boxes headfirst was the last thing Vella remembered.

***

Vella blinked awake, her first clear sight Vivienne’s concerned face. “Hello, my dear. You gave us quite a scare,” Vivienne said. “Can you sit up now?”

Vella rolled to her side and pushed up, feeling a little groggy as she sat. “What happened?”

“Oh, it was going swimmingly, until a Venatori spellbinder came out of nowhere and started lighting up the place with Tevinter magic, some sort of dark lighting. You went down, but Sera, Bull, and I managed to finish them off, at least on this level. I stayed back to revive you. You are most welcome,” Vivienne said with a flourish.

Vella took out a restoration tonic and drank. “Where are Bull and Sera? We can’t be in control of the entire Keep yet? Or how long have I been out?”

“No, dear. Bull and Sera are searching the Venatori dead on this level, but we have at least one level of castle to go. The spellbinder managed to fall back to that upper level. It’s another long set of stairs. Charming.”

Vella felt the effects of the tonic fighting off the remaining pain and injuries of her wounds. She fixed her ponytail then stood up. “Let’s finish this,” she said.

***

This time there was no headlong run up the stairs. Each took protective tonics. Vella pulled two smoke grenades from her belt while Sera fixed a jar of bees to an arrow. Vella threw her grenades and Sera fired her arrow so that the jar smashed against the top step as the arrow flew past it. They knew it had worked when the shrieking began. Vivienne took up her part next, casting a Blizzard over the entire level. Then she targeted the spellbinder further, freezing him in place.

Bull charged up the stairs, Vella and Sera close by, but found a quick fight. It took the team very little time to finish off the spellbinder and clean up the other Venatori.

“This guy’s called Macrinus,” Bull said after flipping through the dead man’s spellbook. “Vints like to inscribe their books like they’re claiming the magic as theirs alone. He was one powerful spellbinder. Did some fancy fast movements while you were out, Boss. It’s how he got past us on the middle level.”

“Oy, Inky. Stop dying, you! Culs-wuls would have my head for ‘not putting down enough suppressing shots’ or forgettin’ to ‘use my area of effect’ weapons. He was all like ‘this is how you storm a castle as an archer,’ and I was all, ‘whut evs I just shoot my bow’. Almost feel like I should have listened,” Sera said.

Vella wrapped the rope from the flagpole around the cleet and looked up at the banner of the Inquisition that now fluttered over Griffon Wing Keep. A platoon of regulars would be heading to the castle once they saw the banner at first light, with runners going back to Craggy Ridge to send for the larger force waiting to march to the keep from Val Firmin. Soon, the Keep would serve as the rally point for the troops moving on Adamant.

“We’ll need to clean out the well and dispose of the rest of the bodies. Will take some time and skill to get the water purified back to drinking levels, but they should be able to use it for bathingand cooling soon enough,” Vella said.

“Boss, you want Sera and I to take care of that?” Bull asked.

“Nuh-uh, Big’un. Not going near that well again,” Sera said.

“Leave her be, Bull darling. I will help you with the bodies,” Vivienne said. “I can freeze them solid and they will float beautifully like ice in an Antivan cocktail. Then you can carry them out to burn.”

“But m’am. You’ll get dirty.”

Vivienne ran a finger up Bull’s muscular grey chest and tugged on his chin. “How precious. These are already for the burn bin from our first trip through. Another one won’t hurt.”

“You surprise me, Vivienne,” Vella said.

“I grew up in the Ostwick Circle, my dear. I know how to be practical even if I choose to be refined. And I know you’re not one to eschew new clothes. You outright spoil Dorian and I, and spare no expense for yourself and everyone else.”

“ _Mais bien sûr_ , Madam de Fer,” Vella said. “We may kick ass, but we can always do it in style.”

Vivienne gave her a graceful curtsy, then snapping her fingers at Bull, left to clean out the well.

In the meantime, Vella and Sera gave the keep a through search. They found multiple scrolls containing Venatori plans and information, some general loot, and in an out of the way archive, sheaves of cryptic notes and a non-functioning elven artifact.

“You wan’ me to turn this’un on, Inks?” Sera asked. “It looks like the ones Solas is always on us to turn on.”

Vella leafed through the notes, frowning at the markings and scribblings. Most was like looking at a foreign language, but what she could understand alarmed her. “No, Sera. Leave it off for now. I want our researchers to look at it - take down some measurements that we can’t get once it is functioning.”

“Oph, good. Let’s set up some sort of shelter then, so we can get some sleep before the regulars get here. I think I saw some canvas and ropes or even a tent on the middle level. I need to get the sand outta my knickers again. I bet even the Veil has sand in it’s knickers in this place!” Sera said, her frown making her plump lower lip stick out.

Vella brushed her hair from her face. “Sera, that is a capital idea. If we’re quick, you can streak Bull and Vivienne when they get back.”

Sera high-fived the Inquisitor, and the two women set off to find the necessary materials.

***

Vella woke the next morning sore and groggy. She’d slept on a bed of grain sacks, and while arguably better than the stone floor, it was not the most desirable bed for a body recovering from hard battle.

Moreover, as she sat up she felt light headed. Stiffness in the morning was an old friend on this campaign, but this was new. Perhaps she was getting a cold. “A cold in the desert, perfect,” she muttered. Yet she stood and made her way down to the courtyard where she saw the first of the Inquisition caravan arriving.

“Ser!” an Inquisition soldier saluted her. He was stocky, with dark blond hair, probably Ander. He contined, “We have sent the ravens to Skyhold and Val Fermin. I am Karel and I will be an aide to you and Knight-Captain Rylen once he has arrived with the Army. The Commander has created him General of Orlais.”The young man reached into his satchel and pulled out a set of letters, scrolls, and the familiar dispatches from Skyhold. “These have also come for you.”

“Excellent, serah. Are there any ravens available here yet?”

“Yes, Inquisitor. To Skyhold, of course. And a few others,” he replied. “Though I would have to check which places.”

“Bring me one for Skyhold and see if we have any for Ostwick, or the nearest you can get,” she ordered rubbing her head. Now she felt clammy. “On second thought, just bring me the one for Skyhold.”

“Very good, ser,” Karel said and was gone.

Vella went back to the archive area and threw a tarp over the artifact. Then she collected the papers strewn across the workbench in the best order she could and placed them into a small chest she found under the workbench. She left the drawings hanging on the wall, though she did count them. On a blank piece of parchment she wrote a hasty note to Knight-Captain Brycen using their native tongue and being vague enough that no one reading it, excepting the intended recipient, would be any wiser from its reading or translation. Then she returned to the courtyard to find Karel and send the raven on its way to Skyhold.

The raven sent, she thought of happier tasks, namely reading the mail from Skyhold which she had noticed included a letter from Cullen. A real letter, not just a note on the bottom of a dispatch.

She shivered as she walked up the stairs to the second level, wiggling the ties from the pack of letters to free Cullen’s missive. The thought that shivering in the heat of the desert was odd passed her mind, but the light scent of elderflower caught her attention and she could hardly hold on to the other letters. Once she was seated on her grain-bag bed, she cracked the wax seal and read his bold script. 

~~~

Trevelyan -

Though I serve as your ever faithful commander, as a man I was sad and forlorn until I read your letter. I had been afraid you would still be angry with me. Now I feel as if I just want to share my life with you - as a man might to the woman he cares for and misses too often.  

I have taken to meeting with Keiran Morriganson to train him as a knight’s squire. We have started with staves as it is a safer weapon for a beginner, as well as appropriate for a mage. The Master Smith is making him a practice sword, but I would have him get his eye in before standing up to a beginner’s steel. I hate dents in my armor. They invite rust. The smiths right now are already working over time, my armor isn’t a priority.

Still, the boy has been a delightful distraction, being a thoughtful child and quick to learn. I also see him practicing a great deal with the stave and with Goblin, though as I recall, these more active pursuits were always more welcome to me at that age than an hour’s work hunched over a book. Morrigan pretends to be put out by the boy’s dereliction of his studies, but I have seen her face as she watches him ride or practice. Perhaps she thinks of her love for the boy’s father, or for only the boy himself. Whatever it is, I hope the Maker blesses me thus, a happy child with a loving mother. When the time is right.

So, sweet lady, you will find me in your bed once more, just as soon as we are in the same place. Your bed is where I belong, even if only to sleep.

Elswyth is making us some very fine pyjamas, based on what I saw you wearing at the Winter Palace, only suitable for warmer months. The pants will tie with a cord to keep everything - from where it should not be. For now. I can see why you count on Elswyth so much - she knows how to soothe a flustered soul.

As I would suffer any mortification to improve my service to you, Lady Moon, I had a long edifying talk with Illia, as you suggested. He tells me how your phases of Satina will help us know when it is likely safe to be together. I was happy to find that all of the other methods of prevention were known to the Templars and I already have them well practiced. And though Maferath’s Punishment is none at all, I want to make love with you in all of the more traditional ways before we get to that.

To this end, I have put my mind to some strict rules for our next war game. I cannot wait to hear your gasping surrender. Soon.

Ever Your Andymion,

Cullen

~~~

Vella pressed the letter to her chest as she conjured Cullen’s smile, the smug one that set off his delicious scar. When he was pleased with himself, generally the world was a safer and more beautiful place, or at least she felt safer and more beautiful.She continued to daydream a little about her strapping commander, wondering when she might feel his firm chest under her cheek, or better yet his cheek on her firm chest.

“Inquisitor?” Karel asked.

She opened her eyes and looked at the aide-de-camp. “Yes?”

“I am sorry, but I was told to make the first dispatch of highest importance. Orders to me from the Commander himself, or I would let you sleep,” the young man had a sheepish look. “Everyone can always use the sleep. Also, the command center on the upper level has been set up.”

“No, it’s alright. The Inquisitor’s work is never done,” she said as she sat up. When she tried to stand, she sat right back down, woosy and lightheaded again, this time worse than before.

“Inquisitor? Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said, beaming her court smile at him. “Just hungry or thirsty I guess. This heat certainly does take it out of you.”

“Well then you stay here, and I will fetch you some of both. They have brought casks of water and fresh supplies,” Karel said, his brows pinched with concern.

“Thank you, Karel. I will stay here and read my dispatches.”

***

Vella tried to eat and drink what Karel had brought her, but wasn’t able to get much down. The dispatches were about Samson, Maddox, and the Red Templar stronghold. The spies and investigators had been successful: they’d discovered the location of Samson’s lair.

Cullen had felt a certain sympathy for Samson, when they’d worked together in Kirkwall. Vella knew Cullen had felt expulsion from the Order had been too harsh for passing lover’s notes for a mage. He’d said he’d even gotten Samson reinstated, after a time, which made the poisoning of the Templars with red lyrium that much more horrible for Cullen. She’d been with him enoughto know he’d feel responsible for placing Samson back in the Order, thus enabling him to sway his fellow Templars. 

As for Maddox, Cullen was nothing if not sympathetic. One night, after a good dinner and some single malt, Cullen opened up about the Tranquil Maddox. Just that day they had received news that Maddox was working with Samson, and was the genius behind the powerful armor that seemed to be keeping Samson lucid and strong despite his heavy use of red lyrium. She would never forget Cullen’s face when he’d said, “Imagine being separated from what made you human just because you had the misfortune of having magic and falling in love with the wrong person.” She thought she’d almost seen tears from her stoic commander. He’d said that act was the first thing Meredith had done that made him question her choices. He suspected it was then that she started keeping things from him and using the more junior Knight-Captain for her dirty work.

The dispatches asked for formal permission for him to travel to her and take part in the raid on the stronghold. She knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer, not as it came to Samson. Or to Maddox. She knew Cullen found the whole thing distasteful, from Meredith’s treatment of Samson and Maddox, to Samson’s ultimate betrayal of his fellow Templars into the service of Corypheus. He saw whatever he could do as a chance to atone for his past behavior.

She would help him, in these acts of atonement. Not that she always felt he was directly responsible, but one did not aspire to leadership without taking on things outside of one’s direct control. She would send him a response at once, and not only because she was impatient to see him. But also because now that they controlled Griffon Wing Keep, the campaign for Adamant could begin in earnest. The demon army must not be allowed to come to pass.

She walked through the purposeful chaos of the middle yard, and up the long stairs to the third level of the keep, which did have the character of a command center with it’s tables and tents. Some soldiers and a smith were building a armoring bench and still others were gathering and putting into order the herbs and ingredients for a potions bench under the watchful eye of an Inquisition mage. She located Karel and asked for a raven.

As she waited, she took off her vest and loosened the neck of her linen tunic. The sun, it seemed, was really getting to her. She poured a cup of water, sitting to write the orders allowing the Commander to join her here at Griffon Wing.

She rolled the paper neatly and set it down. She did not feel well at all. Perhaps she should nap as the Tevinter and Rivaini do during the hottest part of the day, at least until she was used to the dry desert air.

Karel returned with the bird. She attached the scroll and set it to flight. “Karel,” she said as she stood, “I am going to lie down. I leave the soldiers and keep to your command. Go to Bull with anything that might need me. He will know if I need to be fetched.”

“Very good, Inquisitor,” Karel answered.

She stood and stepped away from the table, only to collapse at his feet.

“Inquisitor!” Karel said, coming to her aid.

“Perhaps you should fetch Bull now. I - I can’t stand,” she said calmly. It took all her concentration to stay sitting upright as she waited for Bull. When he finally appeared and scooped her into his arms she said, “Should anyone arrive holding a letter from my brothers, give them whatever they need and trust them implicitly. I’ll need your experience running this keep until General Rylen arrives.”

“Boss, you’ll be fine. It’s just a little sunstroke. Madam will have you in an ice bath and back to kicking ass in no time,” he said. Then he set her onto a proper camp bed and took off her boots.

“If you say so, Bull, but I don’t - I don’t feel right,” she said as she settled in. Then she sat up and caught his arm. “If I can’t, tell Cullen I love him, when he gets here,” she said.

“Boss!” Bull said, now really alarmed.

“Promise me,” she said, and started to feel herself slip away, even as she heard Bull bellowing for Madam de Fer and the healers.

 

 

 

 

 


	47. A Pretty Face On Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen worries about Vella, Garrett worries about family, and Elswyth does not worry about Solas. 
> 
> ***WARNINGS: a bit of consensual spanking, M/M and M/F sex, and mention of child sexual abuse.***  
> If these bother you, just read up to the part where the setting changes to Chateau Bourget. M/M sex in that section, M/F sex in the last bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***  
> I got distracted. First, by trying to write in a dialect (Petrel's, an OC), and second by Fenris and Garrett Hawke's experiences in that awful Kirkwall and even worse Tevinter. Finally, by sex - always with the sex. And I figure where there is sex, there are bound to be babies. I like to think of the video game as the "official account" where all the naughty, questionable stuff gets taken out. This is more like Varric's version, if he had obsessions with clothes, jewels, and beautiful men.  
> ***

The first thing Vella became aware of was elderflower, the smell of elderflower and oakmoss - and honey? The scent made her want to go to it, to wake, though she wasn’t sure why, sleep was so quiet and good. But so was this scent. It called her, it called her - home. She tried to move, but it was difficult. Her limbs were too heavy.

She tried to speak then, to call for help, but her tongue felt fat and numb. She moved a hand to touch her lips, and finally her body responded. Her lips were cracked, but felt slick. An ointment. Someone had treated the cracks. She sighed and tried to open her eyes.

They blinked, heavy with sleep, but then they opened. There at her side, pouring water into a glass from an earthenware jug, was the source of the lovely scent, giving her an even more pleasant view. Cullen in his shirt sleeves, hair mussed and sleepy looking, smiling at her as if she were Andraste herself.

“Shh, Lady Moon,” he said. “Drink first, then we can speak. You’ve been injured and sedated; it’s no wonder you’re out of sorts.”

She nodded. He helped her drink her fill. She started to feel more awake, like her mouth and limbs might respond if she called upon them to work. “How long?” she rasped.

“About a fortnight. For a few days they thought you were just sick, but then your brother’s friend arrived, and thank the Maker for that. Bull gave her whatever she needed, and Vivienne. Your fever was so high you were hallucinating. They cooled you down enough to stop them, but not so much to interfere with the fever. Petrel was insistent. Said you must have an infection, and the body needed to work, but not so hard. She thought maybe an abscessed wound from taking the keep. It took time to find it and lance it. Then you developed a - secondary infection - I think she called it. That’s more or less when I arrived. Your fever went back up. We’ve had a hell of a time keeping you full of liquids. Last night, your fever finally broke,” he said. “We’ve been waiting for you to wake up. Toughest hours of my life, after the ones you were lost on the mountain. This time at least, I could hold you in my arms.”

She reached out and took his cheek. “You got here so fast. It’s supposed to take nine days to get here from Skyhold. What did you do, fly?”

He turned his face into her palm and kissed it. Vella could feel the tears forming at the corner of his eye, but neither said a word about them. “No. I took a ship. Well, two ships and a barge. It cut off three days, though.”

“But you hate ships,” she said. She could hardly believe he was here, beside her, that he had done so much to be with her.

“You were dying, or so Bull wrote,” he said, kissing her cheek and lips. “I hate that more.”

She tried to sit up, but the pain in her leg stopped her. Cullen helped her sit more upright, putting pillows behind her. She pulled the covers back and looked at the large bandage on her leg. It was where she’d banged her shin in the polluted well. Petrel would help her understand the rest. If Petrel were here, her brother must really be curious about Solas and these elven artifacts.

As if thinking about her summoned the woman, Petrel flew through the flaps of the tent and landed on her knees, just next to Cullen. She swept her long, thin, greying braids back from her shoulders and smiled at her friend, her white teeth bright against her ebony skin. “Ah, Vellanell, fin’lly come back to us. Dis good, or I’d have two patients soon. Dis man ‘ere has barely eaten or slept in too long. Now, gwan, send him out, for he won’ listen t’me, and e’rryone else ‘fraid of him, even the big Qu - nari, eh?” Petrel had a sweet and low voice, and spoke in a musical patois more typical to Wycombe’s sailors than a university professor. She was stressed, clearly, as her normally more cultured Common was nowhere to be found.

Vella turned accusing eyes on Cullen. “You know you have to eat, to rest, _macushla_. Your health is as important as mine. You’re the Commander of the Inquisition. They need you too. Though I love that you were here, when I woke up.”

He smiled at her, even as she chastised him. “Don’t worry, I have been taking my tea, and eating enough. Sera was most insistent. Though I could use some sleep and a shave,” he said.

“Go den. If you promise to keep away some hours, you can help bathe Vellanell later tonight. I see how t’ings are now, for both of you. And ‘ere I was t’inking you were jus’ a ver-ry devoted sol-dyah. I mus’ be getting old, to not recognize love when I see it.”

Cullen cleared his throat. “Yes, well. We are close. I care for her. As my Inquisitor,” he stammered. “And - more. So much more.”

“Gud enough, Clam-man-der. Vellanell’s fever mus’ ta been tough for you. Sleep. Bathe. Yuh gud. I got Vellanell for now,” she said, shooing him from the tent. Cullen waved, then fled from the now animated woman.

“Clam-man-der? Vella asked when he was gone.

“Ah, Vellanell. Yuh know, hard on de outside, soft on the inside. Like dat metal skin he was wearin’ mos’ de time. Bet he’d make a pretty gud pearl, dat one. Knows how to put a pretty face on pain.”

“Petrel, oysters make pearls.”

“Now, now. No account getting sassy jus’ cuz you feelin’ better. I know dem pearls come from orsters, but Clam-man-der is funnier, wit his title, no?” Petrel said with a laugh. “You know Ser-ra would agree wit me.”

Vella laughed with a wince as she tried to move again. “She will. She calls him my Cully-Wully, but she may also like Clam-man-der,” Vella said with a chuckle, her cheeks going red just thinking about what Cullen had nearly admitted. She changed the subject. “How is - everyone? Do they know?”

“Don’ worry. Sent ravens to Antiva, Ostwick, Markham, and the Ballie soon as ya fever broke. Erryone up to date on ya.”

Vella nodded. “And my brother?”

“Eh,” Petrel said dismissively. “Like usual, work, work, work all the time. As if the university don’ have uddar professors. Gud t’ing all de chi’ren at school now,he’ll be in his study for a mont’ when I bring him back dis treasure ‘ere.”

“Is it that bad? Or good? Is it good?” Vella asked. She so wanted Solas to be what he seemed. Her mentor, her haren, her friend. Elswyth’s lover. Perhaps even Elswyth’s love.

“Well now, I’ve only jus’ gotten a real look today, as someone ‘round here got herself right sick from too much magical healin’. Fool chil’, you know better than dat!” Petrel said as she took off the bandages to show Vella the wound, muttering under her breath about over use of magic, adventurers, and the general foolishness of the Trevelyan family, herself included for marrying in.

“Now don’ worry, it bad, but not like i’twas,” Petrel said, seeing Vella’s disgusted look. “Got the abscess opened, and drained it gud, but by den de infection pass to your leg bone. Gud t’ing I was ‘ere. Nun ya people ‘ere knew how to heal dis properly, from medicine widdin and medicine widdout, wit time in between. Remember, magic is fake healin’. Your body always need to catch up. We leave for Chateau Bourget, jus pas’ Val Fermin, day from tomorrow. You heal better, by the wata’, no doubt. Let’s dress you and get you to walk about. Den food and bath and propa’ rest like you should.”

***

Cullen walked out of Vella’s tent and straight into Bull’s. He didn’t want to break down in full view of the keep.

“Boss okay?” Bull asked at Cullen’s appearance.

Cullen nodded. “Just woke up.”

“Ha, HA!” Bull said standing up from writing his letters. “I told you she was stronger than she looks!”

Cullen nodded, almost numb. He’d been keeping it together for Sera’s sake as she’d been bawling since he arrived, plus he didn’t want to look unprofessional in front of the other soldiers, but he had been so scared. She was so pale, and the fever had been so high for so long. The crisis - with her breathing so shallow. The thought alone had him on the verge of tears.

Bull noticed and pulled the Commander in for a hug.

Cullen cried like a baby in Bull’s arms. The big grey Qunari just held him and hummed a soft tune.When Cullen’s tears had reduced to hiccups, Bull let him go slowly and stood him up tall. “Better?”

Cullen laughed. “She’s going to live, so yes.”

“Perfect. You know, I’m always good for a hug or a slug, whatever you need,” Bull said, pounding him on the back.

Cullen coughed a little. “Yes. Well.”

“And don’t worry - not a word - not even to Dodo.”

“I appreciate your overlooking my - unprofessionalism.”

“Damn, Commander. Every time Dorian and the Boss leave without me I can hardly sleep til they’re back. It’s hard not to be there when you send them off to dangerous jobs. It’s not unprofessional to care about people. It’s unprofessional to waste them. You and I both know that.”

Cullen nodded. Bull gestured to the wash stand and Cullen cleaned himself up.

“This means we move forward with the Shrine of Dumat?” Bull asked once Cullen seemed himself.

“Without a doubt. Petrel said this morning we could move her the day after tomorrow, and that was before she woke up. Take care of what we discussed as to the wagons and dracolisks, and get Sera and Madam Vivienne prepared to move out. Rylen’s as ready as ever to take over the keep. Troops for Adamant have been arriving on schedule. The meeting that would have been at Skyhold has been moved to some noble’s vacation home, Château Bourget, due to the Inquisitor’s illness, so we’ll stop there first and then hit the Shrine.

“Now I’m going to get some rack time before I fall down at the command table. Inform Skyhold and Chateau Bourget of the Inquisitor’s health so they stop worrying. Tell the keep after that. And if you can, keep Sera off of me will you?”

“Best I can, Commander. Best I can,” Bull said.

“Fair enough,” Cullen laughed.

***

Later that day Vella met with Knight-General Rylen as she was taking her first stroll around the command level. Just the simple walk from one end of the keep’s upper level to the other wore her out. She submitted to being fed by Petrel without complaint and fell asleep while Cullen bathed her. The morning after that she fed herself, but Petrel still helped her dress in flowing linen pants and a long tunic top like the kind favored by the locals. It’s loose fit would help her wound continue to heal.

When Cullen carried her down the stairs and out to her carriage the next day, she didn’t put up any fuss, and was pliant with both he and Bull as they helped her along during the two day journey to Chateau Bourget.

The only stop they made was to say goodbye to Petrel and several boxes of “research” she was going to take back to the University at Markham where Petrel and Vella’s brother taught.

“I’m takin’ the slow boat back, eh?” she teased. “But tis better than overland.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Cullen said, offering his hand for Petrel to shake. “Thank you, for everything you did.”

Laughing, Petrel shook his hand, but then pulled him in for a hug. “Go on with your handshake. You need hugs as much as she do. And anyway, Vellanell is much loved by her brotha and me, and the chil’ren. If I came home with no gud news of Vellanell ‘ere, it migh’ be my heart broken too, so my pleasure, Clam-man-der. You watch her gud now, hear? And take off that metal suit by and by. It's not healt’y for a man like you to wear that t’ing all de time. Skin to skin is de bes’ healin’ anaway,” she said, knowing by now it would make the Commander blush.

“Yes ma'am. Of course ma’am,” he said.

Petrel spoke with the healers again, and gave them several scrolls explaining how and why she’d done what she’d done, as well as how to make the tinctures and poultices that had helped Vella and would continue to help her along the path to real recovery. She was forbidden to use healing magic for another week. By then, Petrel felt, all that would be left to heal would be cosmetic. She gave all of the mage healers and companions one last lecture about the limitations of magical over natural healing before she boarded the boat that would take her across Lake Celestine to the river, the Waking Sea, and the home port of Ostwick.

 

***

Château Bourget sat right on the blue shores of Lake Celestine, it’s delicate white stone spires standing in relief against the leafy green forest. As the pleasure palace of one of the richest families in Orlais, it boasted many balconied guestrooms with sweeping views of the expanse of the lake and the little sailing ships that dotted her waters. Here, no one would guess at the ravaged lands of the Orlesian civil war on the lake’s easterly shore, nor did anything suggest that the green swirl in the blue sky was anything but a trick of the light. It was in this charmed place that the Inquisitor, her companions, advisors, and noble allies gathered to begin the final preparations for the assault on Adamant.

Garrett Hawke found himself in this delightful spot after Stroud had insisted on staying back to direct the spies surrounding the fortress and harassing any stray Wardens, urging Hawke take the latest intelligence back to Cullen and to visit his lover. A flurry of ravens and one sandstorm later, they were on their way to each other.

Returning after a drainingmeeting with Dame Elswyth and Varric about the future of the Amell and Hawke families in Kirkwall, Garrett closed the door of his suite quietly, then thanked the Maker he’d listened to Stroud when he looked at the lovely pair in the bed. Fenris slept on his side, bare but for the body of Orana, their submissive. She too slept naked, half on her side and leaned against Fenris, one leg flung over his hip, the pink of her sex a temptation, even as a brownish line pulled the eye over her large rounded belly to her darkened nipples. His eye went further, up to her pouty lips and pointed ears, just peaking from her sleep-mussed blond hair. Garrett would bet Fenris’ sex was only just outside of Orana’s. He wondered if the pair had been fucking more often this past season while he was stuck in the desert.

Garrett would have been jealous, but Fenris always kept the young woman cuffed and chained to the headboard when she slept with them so that she was unable to touch him. Only Garrett himself was allowed to stroke his fierce elven lover, to let his fingers or tongue play softly over the lyrium tattoos that twined over Fenris’ alabaster skin. It filled Garrett with gratitude that the lean warrior would submit himself in such a way after all he’d been through. They did not dote on each other usually, and a humorous or curt remark was more typical than a tender one, but it was their way. Action, Fenris would say, is what really speaks, not words.

So Orana could touch Fenris’s face and hair with her hands, and at least one other place with her mouth, but nowhere else. The cuffs and chains reminded her, but she didn’t really need them. Fenris needed them to feel safe, and she was only too happy to serve.

It had not been their intention to take Orana as a slave, let alone a submissive, when they’d freed her from the blood mage Hadriana and the Tevinter slavers years ago, when she was hardly more than a child. Garrett had given her a job, made her a paid servant in his house. She’d become his mother’s handmaiden, doing her hair, caring for her clothes, entertaining Leandra with lute and stories. They’d become quite close. They sewed together as well, something Leandra had loved to do with his sister.

When Leandra was murdered, Orana seemed to lose her mind, as if this loss had finally broken her. She’d run away from the house several times, only to be found a few hours later being slapped around or otherwise abused in a private room at the Blooming Rose. They had friends among the Templar’s and city guard that frequented the Rose, so they had always gotten to her quickly, but they both knew she needed attention, needed something she hadn’t been getting.

Fenris finally took the girl in hand after she’d been given a set of bloody cane stripes before they’d been able to fetch her back. Garrett watched Fen recognize her need, as if being born a slave caused an affliction of the soul only another born to bondage could know. For Fenris, killing the Fog Warriors who had refused to give him back to Danarius had sent him into this same crisis. Fenris knew what it took to free a mind as well as a body.At the time, Hawke had suspected that if she could not free her thinking, Fenris would eventually give her the ultimate freedom.

Thus, she became the only servant at Fenris’s moldy estate, cooking his meals, washing his clothes, fetching his wine, and sleeping in her own bed but at the foot of his. She’d blossomed with the work, with Fenris’ constant complaining about how this thing or that thing was dusty or unwashed, a whiny griping only to be outdone by his railing against changes or repairs of any kind. Just enough domination to keep her focused and happy.

It was when she’d begun to talk back to him, even as she always did what she was told to do, that Hawke knew she would pull through. Any woman who nagged that man about his muddy feet tracking the floor and spiky armor gouging the furniture no longer thought as a slave. Isabela was the only other person Fen seemed to suffer - and suffer was the word - giving him shit. Isabela and Orana developed a little rivalry, when it came to Fenris.

But then a strange thing happened. After dinner one night, Orana threw the dishes instead of cleaning up as usual. When Garrett realized they were the good crockery, the dishes picked out by his mother when they'd first moved back into the Amell estate, he had become enraged, shouting at the woman for her ingratitude, her thoughtlessness as it came to what had been Elandra’s.

Fenris had stepped between them, calmed him. He asked the girl what was wrong in a soft but firm tone.She wouldn’t answer, or even look at him. Then, in an even softer voice he asked what punishment she thought she should be given.

“I should be spanked,” she had said. “I have been a brat to both of you. Especially to Messere Hawke, who gave me my freedom. He should spank me.”

Fenris nodded and released a deep breath, as if he finally understood. They negotiated quickly. This was clearly a game they had played before.

Garrett would never forget- over the knee, bare hand, bare bottom, twenty-five strokes that she would count _._ He hadn’t known if he could do it when she placed herself over his lap and matter-of-factly raised her skirts. Fenris had whispered a few suggestions, but after the first few soft _~ thank you, Messeres~_ he knew he could do it, that it was meant to walk the line between pain and pleasure.

Given her squeals and moans, he should not have been surprised by the _~ fuck me, Messeres_ ~she’d murmured when he had finished.

Her bottom had been hot pink, even red in places, and her sex swollen and wet. She’d turned her shoulders to look at both of them, and whispered the phrase again.

The lust in her gaze made Fen growl, “Say it again, brat. Properly this time.”

“Please, fuck me, Messeres. This brat wants you both to take her. This brat wants to be caught between you, serving you both. I want to be your plaything.” 

So they had done exactly that.

Though she did not come to them often, they were always happy to indulge her needs when she sought them out. Gradually, she took over the care and running of both houses, as well as Ander’s old infirmary, though with more traditional methods, instead of magic. Yet they were still her ‘ _Messeres_ ’ no matter that she ran their lives rather than the other way around.

Garrett and Fenris agreed, she was as close to a wife as either would ever have, so she’d been given the bedroom across from theirs, a maid and staff of her own at both houses, and many fine clothes - or at least as fine as she would wear. She saw no point in dressing as a lady, when she was not one. She did, however, accept the silverite necklace Garrett bought her; it had the Amell family crest set on it in rubies.

There was one boon, however, that she did eventually ask of her _Messeres_. She asked for a child. The request humbled them both. So after a brief discussion between the men, and much love making among the three, a child was conceived. In due time, indeed, in very due time, both of them would be fathers, one in blood and the other in spirit. As of yet, they didn’t know which was which and none of them cared.

For this long trip to see Hawke off to Adamant, he and Fen had argued with each other and with her over its necessity. Garrett was concerned for their closeness to the Imperium, as both were theoretically stolen goods. Fenris refused to leave her on her own. Both men worried for her health with the long trip. Orana simply said it was foolish for Garrett and Fenris to not be together before the siege though she refused to be left behind in Kirkwall.

On his trip to Chateau Bourget, while caught in a sandstorm, Garrett found himself fantasizing about sinking his cock into Orana’s wet slit as her lips and tongue caressed the softly glowing tattoos on Fenris’ shaft and balls. His mind also wandered to the many times they’d joined together in Maferath’s Threesome with himself as Mafarath and Fenris as Maker, his markings bright and drenched in her sweet nectar. Garret had always wondered about those marks, their purpose and placement. Though Garrett had run his own tongue along them more times than he could count, Fenris did not take Garrett as he took Orana, so far preferring to receive Garrett’s hard cock when they made love.It bothered Garrett, but only a little. After weeks in the desert chasing Grey Wardens, he really just wanted to hold Fen and listen to Orana play her lute.

Even though it was almost midday, Garrett dropped his robes and small clothes at the side of the bed and climbed in behind Fenris. He settled himself against Fenris’ bottom and snuggled his face to the back of his lover’s neck. Fenris’ fine white hair tickled his nose, the faint scent of beeswax and sandalwood teasing his senses. So too could the sensitive skin of his lips feel the hum of the lyrium markings on the back of Fenris’ neck.

Fenris stirred a little, then turned to face Garrett, rolling out from under Orana. “Can you not see I am sleeping? Or at least that I was sleeping? And now I’m cold, without Orana.”

“You could snuggle with me, Pup, I’ve missed you,” Garrett said. “Or am I not even a warm body to you anymore?”

Fen smiled and pulled himself closer to Garrett. “Seems strange that I am the pup, but you are the furry one,” Fenris said dryly, running is hand over Garrett’s hairy leg and chest to tug on his beard. “These Fereldan endearments make little sense.”

“I could call you _lupus dulce_ ,” Garrett said. “Or perhaps _lupus amans_?

Fenris sighed. “Who in Thedas has been teaching you Tevene?”

“That lovely companion of the Inquisitor’s - Dorian. He just arrived with another of the Inquisitor’s people, Dame Elswyth. I met them before, at Skyhold. Fabulously charming, both of them. And both of them can hardly wait to meet you and Orana,” Garrett said.

Fenris frowned at Hawke. “Dorian? Dorian Pavus?”

“Ye-es,” Garrett said cautiously. “Is it going to be a problem? I thought maybe, after all this time?”

Fenris crawled over Garrett and stalked around the bed, picking up the blankets and gently placing them back over Orana before heading out onto the balcony.

Garrett sighed and followed him. Fenris was standing at the railing, beautifully nude, his tattoos catching the sun. They gave off a faint glow, primed by Fen’s growing temper.

“Pup?” he asked as he came up behind him and took him in his arms.

“You don't just get over being enslaved,” Fen said softly. “You are a mage, well and good, but you don't behave like a noble. But Lord Dorian Pavus? An Altus mage? I'm surprised he's willing to slum with anyone less than a count here in Orlais, yet you want me to meet this mage and be civil?” Fenris said.

“You don’t have to meet him, I suppose. If it’s too much. But I think you might like him, in spite of yourself,” Garret said. “He’s in exile, you know, and he held no slaves in Tevinter. He wants reforms. I’m told he uses no blood magic. Even Cullen likes him.” He kissed Fen on the back of the neck again, in the same spot as before. It was one of his favorites. They’d been too long parted to be arguing now. “He's also quite lovey-dovey with a giant horned Qunari called Bull. But I will understand, should you refuse to meet him. I may ask, but I will never force you to do anything you would not choose to do.”

“You realize, they all say they don’t use blood magic. But they all do it,” Fenris crabbed, even as he leaned into Garrett’s caresses.Eventually, he turned to kiss his lover properly.

They kissed on the balcony for some time, a crowd gathering in the garden below them. They were in Orlais, at a pleasure palace. Nothing between consenting adults was forbidden or even frowned upon here.

Fenris eventually noticed their audience, the masked and sun-shaded Orlesians below them, and stopped kissing Hawke. “The powerful are the same everywhere,” he observed. “Voyeurs, the lot of them.”

“Hmm, so it would seem. Though few would turn away from watching a handsome elf like you - great or small,” Hawke teased as he played with Fenris’ nipples and stiff prick. He did not seem at all turned off by being watched, even as he complained.

“Did you - perform - in public when you were with Danarius?” Hawke asked. They were now just cuddling, though the crowd didn’t thin.

“Danarius liked to bend me to his will for an audience,” Fenris said. “He thought it made him look more powerful. He also liked to watch. I did what I was told to do with whomever I was bid. It was one of the more pleasant ways he showed me off. I only refused children, though it didn’t happen often.”

Garrett gasped. “You were offered children?”

“Girls, yes. Boys they buggered in private, in the Imperium. For female slaves, if you could bleed you could breed. But I would take no one who wasn’t old enough to inherit,” Fenris replied. “A slave could be freed upon the death of their owner, if they were old enough to inherit their own value. It’s considered adulthood in the Imperium. It’s a lovely way of keeping a reformer from freeing all of their slaves at once. Even so, when it was known I’d rather be beaten than take a child, I was offered adult slaves, females, in hopes of my setting a babe on one of them. As far as I know, it didn’t work.”

Garrett could sense that perhaps their lustful moment was passing, though the crowd remained. Truly, it was enough for him that both had made the trip from Kirkwall to see him. Orana hadn’t been many places, hadn’t experienced much of life as a free person, even in Kirkwall. Orana also hadn’t experienced anything like the luxury and leisure of a palace like this; it made him wonder. “Fenris, were you Orana’s first lover? At your mansion?”

“No. Ortemisia had already visited her well before we freed her. Maidenheads do not last long among slave girls. She told me that within a year of her first moon, she was given to a mage as an entertainment one evening, to help Hadriana gain a boon from him,” Fen said. “She told me he was gentle, almost apologetic, but that he had his way nonetheless. After that she said she was left alone again. But Hadriana could be very - creative - with her punishments. I doubt the girl even knew what was truly going on.”

Garrett looked at the pretty elf in their bed, and a terrible thought struck him. “How old is Orana?”

Fenris gave his lover a half smile. “Worried we did something wrong?”

His conversation with Varric and Dame Elswyth still stung him, as they had categorized his behavior toward both Fenris and Orana as irresponsible. Now he understood why his father went grey so young. Head of House is no small thing. Garrett hung his head. “Too late is better than never, I hope.”

Fen kissed his eyelids and forehead. “I did not become a degenerate with my freedom. I would not take her until she was of age by Kirkwall standards, and I had been with her for seasons before you were. She’s more than old enough, Garrett.”

They both looked back at Orana, the slim lines and rounded curves of her. She was built differently than Fenris, limbs like toothpicks she had, rather than Fen’s lithe but solid musculature. She was so much younger than both of them - more than ten years. Garrett guessed her to be no more than twenty summers, give or take a year or two. “Have we done wrong? Keeping Orana? Giving her what she wanted? Perhaps we should have tried to give her a more normal life instead - married her to that nice fletcher in the Alienage or something?”

“I have wondered that myself, more than once,” Fenris said. “I take comfort that she has been an adult these years now and no longer thinks like a slave. A submissive, yes, but not a slave. She would and did make her wishes known. I think though that in this desire for a child, her rivalry with Isabela is truly at root, even more than her feelings for us. We have done only what our sweet brat wanted, and we can hardly go back on it now.”

Garrett pulled Fen against him. “You think this belly is about Isabela and Xander?”

Fen stroked Garrett’s back. “I do.”

Seeing Isabela with Xander - it made Garrett laugh at her, but not in a bad way - in rather much the same way he laughed at himself with Fenris.

“Garrett, hear me out. I can't make her sleep like that anymore, even if the cuffs and chains are more truly jewelry than anything else. She must be free of those chains for the child. But more than that - I trust her,” Fenris said. “I think gloves, some beautiful satin gloves, or maybe kid-skin leather, might be the answer. Yours - yours is the only touch I can truly bear.”

Garrett knew this moment would come some day. And to his shock, he was happy. He kissed his partner. “I know you only kept them on her to humor jealous old me.Love is a funny thing. It makes us do funny things. Like ask Tevinter mages to teach us phrases in Tevene to impress hard-won lovers with our devotion. I learned a few more phrases, in Tevene, if you’re interested,” Garrett added, nibbling Fen’s earlobe. “ _Te amo, Lupus Paulo, amans mei. Amica mea tuum est,”_ he murmured into Fenris’s pointed ear.

“Do you even know what that means?” Fen groused, but his smile gave the lie. He took a deep breath, and his expression dimmed a little.

“You’ve never doubted my love before,” Hawke said as he teased the marks on Fen’s shaft with a moistened finger. “I’ve only ever hesitated calling you mine up to now because it sounded so,” he stopped.

“So much like I was your property?” Fenris brooded.

“Yes. And now I think about it, saying it in Tevene was probably the wrong thing to do, too. I am sorry, Pup. I meant only to please you. I only ever mean to please you with my stupid tongue.”

Fenris ran his hands up into Garrett’s hair and pulled his head back firmly, looking him dead in the eye. Fen’s dark grey brows were set in their fierce sneer, his grey-green eyes sparkling in the glow from his face tattoos. Garrett’s magic responded in kind so that the tension between them was so thick you could smell it, like the scent of the sky just before a storm on a hot, humid day.

“Did you also learn _omnia vincit amor_?” Fenris growled.

“No,” Garrett said ferociously, aroused rather than put off by his lover’s aggressiveness.

Fenris tugged harder on Garrett’s hair. “Well, you should have. _Omnia vincit amor_ means ‘love conquers all things,’” he said and kissed him with savage desire.But then, subtly, gently, Fenris surrendered to Garrett’s equally passionate response. Finally Fenris whispered, “ _Et nos cedamus amori,_ my love. We must all yield to love. Even me.”

They kissed again, Fenris murmuring against Garrett’s lips, “I am yours.”

And there it was, that phrase in the rough susurration that was Fenris’s voice, that phrase that made Garrett’s heart pound. Garret could only answer with one thing, “I love you, too.”

“Good. Now fuck me before the crowd gets bored,” Fenris said. “I want them to see my power over you.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to fuck me?” Garret asked. “You never have. You’re more than welcome to Pup. That would really make you look powerful.”

Fen made a lustful, frustrated sound. “Please don’t ask that. I want to, but it’s too dangerous. The markings - they require the natural lubrication of a mouth or a woman’s body otherwise penetration is quite painful for both parties,” Fenris said. “I won’t do that to you.”

“Well, I guess I’m just going to have to bend you over the railings then,” Garrett said with a naughty grin.

“You can try, Hawke,” Fen said menacingly, resting his thumb against the apple of Garrett’s throat. “But I’d much rather be taken with my back against the wall, if you please. They’ll still get a wonderful view below. The bastards.” It was the small twitch of Fen’s cheek that let Garrett know he truly did want an audience.

“Show off,” Garrett said, pulling Fenris over to the wall and thumping him against it. Hawke went to his knees and made love to Fen with his hands, fingers, and tongue.

Fenris’ early seed was flowing freely when he barked, “Pyres, Garrett, fuck me!” It was loud enough for the voyeurs below, but with a whispered, “please,” just for Garrett.

“Bossy bitch,” Garrett said, standing to carry out his lover’s order, picking him up easily and entering him slowly. Saliva and early seed allowed a thoroughly aroused and relaxed Fenris to take Garrett’s cock comfortably. “Maker, I’ve missed your ass, Fen.”

“ _Kaffas!_ That’s so good,” Fen growled. “Harder!”

The crowd in the garden tittered as they watched, with a few gasps and moans peppering the gardens as well.They made love quite vigorously, for some time, in several different positions before they spent themselves dry.

It was the polite clapping, at the end, that made Fenris chuckle, though still panting in his lover’s arms.

Garrett loved that sound.

***

~~~

The Dame Elswyth is commanded by Her Serene Worship the Herald of Andraste, Lady Inquisitor, to invite Goody Orana of House Amell to take tea on the terrace, whatsoever afternoon it may please her during this next seven-day.

~~~

Elswyth looked at the card she had begun to write and crumpled it, seeing that the formality of an official visit was not conducive to what she and the Inquisitor needed to know about the Champion of Kirkwall, his lover, and their Orana. She tossed it aside and abandoned her desk for the vanity.

A flock of little spies had told Elswyth that both men doted on the elf woman, even as she acted as their factotum and servant. Letters came for her from the Kirkwall estates; she answered them in a schooled if unsophisticated hand - neat block script like Templars. She, and apparently the warrior, too, were literate.

As they had arrived a few days before Hawke and Elswyth, they were seen taking in the puppet shows and plays, the performing bears and small shops that were placed in the outer gardens, where their official positions as elven servants made no problems. She had worn good but unremarkable clothing, while the warrior preferred armor. This set he wore now covered him in either leather or metal scales from ankle to collarbone and wrist to wrist, so that only the faint lines on his chin and bare feet could be seen.

At night, the pair were only seen in the salon gallery once - during a performance by Massimo, the famous Antivan lute player and his ensemble. Both were well-dressed and graceful, not a piece of armor in sight, instead using the Amell crest as their protection. Hers was on a heavy, well made necklace while his was beautifully embroidered on a sleeveless surcoat he wore over a snowy linen tunic shirt, leather pants, and matching boots. Even without the protections of the Amell House, the warrior’s glare kept everyone away, as just their eyes perused the handsome elf and his fruiting blossom. The unobservant thought simply that the two were a couple and the baby theirs.

Whenever they went out, she was two steps in front of the warrior, or less usually, on his arm. When she was on his arm, she usually looked unsure or afraid. The warrior never looked either of those things. She had been told that now that Garrett had arrived she most often took his arm, while the warrior walked on his other side.

The warrior, the warrior, the warrior, she thought as she brushed her long white hair. She had heard rumors about this tattooed wonder almost since his creation. The Trevelyans were too well connected to not have heard snippets about a magister’s pet magical creation, one - it was boasted - heretofore unseen in Thedas. This ~ Fenris ~ had been a matter of debate in certain circles since then and even more so once he stole himself away. However, his work with the Champion in Kirkwall and his more usual discretion had bought him much credit in those circles. Public sex, it seemed, was not his usual habit. More often he preferred hoods or armor, or keeping to the shadows, not avoiding attention but certainly not drawing it.

So, was he a wolf, or was he a lap dog? Or was he something else again?

She would have to observe this Fenris, and draw her own conclusions. She did not know, however, if she wanted him to join their tête à tête. The girl might not feel free to speak, if he was there to mind her.

“ _Mon dieu, ma petite colombe_ , where have you flown to now?” Jean-Paul asked from the bed.

Like most young men, now that he had been admitted to the brotherhood of lovers, he wanted to spend nearly every minute of every day making love. She would have put Jean-Paul off entirely and left him a maiden when visiting his chateau, but Solas provoked her, with his little show of power in the Fade. This besotted youth, following her here on her important grown-up business was what she got for her fit of pique. The boy - young man - was a pleasant distraction, but a distraction nevertheless. He came over and kissed her cheek.

“Just brushing my hair,” she said. Then she turned and offered him the brush. “Would you like to try? Women like this sort of thing.”

He took it, and began to run it through her hair. “Like this?”

“Hmm,” she said, running her hand up his thigh, caressing his half engorged organ. Positive reinforcement was so effective, after all.The boy had been a quick study in all she had taught him, and while not beautiful,he was certainly pleasing and definitely intelligent, among other gifts. A wiser woman would take what he offered- official mistress- and retire. They had made a joke about draping her in ropes of pearls at Skyhold, and after he had finally done it - come on her chest after making love to her breasts - he presented her with an obscenely long rope of fat grey pearls that could be clasped in different ways across her decolletage. In the darkest corner of her heart, she did not know which part turned her on more - the sex, the jewels, or the tender and naughty thought that went into the gift.

“ _Mon chouchou_ ,” she said. “How is it that you came to me so innocent of women? I can hardly believe I got you so entirely unschooled.”

He blushed a deep pink. “No particular reason,” he said quickly. “County de Évreux is rich in resources but very remote. My father didn’t like court and my mother was from Ferelden and had no wish to go to Orlesian court. They both loved reading and long walks through elven ruins. I saw no one my age or older who struck me as you did, as you do,” he whispered, setting down the brush and sliding the thin film of her peignoir from her shoulders, letting it fall free to her elbows. He kissed down the line of her back, stopping only after he placed two soft kisses, one on each cheek of her bottom. “When I came to court on my own as a count, all the women were so obvious with their games. They wanted to marry me, or they didn’t want to marry me but they wanted my money and protection. A few, especially the older married ones, they just wanted to fuck me. They are not subtle, Orlesian women. But I wanted - just the right person.”

He moved her chair so that he could go to his knees between her legs. Slowly, he untied the belt of the peignoir and opened it. Then he lifted one of her thighs up and out so he could look upon her sex. “ _Ta chatte_ ,” he murmured and kissed her inner knee, “ _elle est une trésor pour moi._ ”

He teased her with a finger and thumb as he continued. “When I first saw you at the Winter Palace, you were petting one of the peacocks in the pleasure gardens, feeding it bread while that mage read to you from Philium the Bard. He made you laugh, and you were, ethereal and eternal in your beauty, and a little forbidden. How was I not to wonder? What a surprise it was when you asked to be introduced to me. I was flattered. And wary,” he said as he kissed her other thigh, a little lower down than the last few. “What is it you would want from me? It could not be my hand in marriage. I am a rogue nobleman, but I can only go so far, no? So, I think it will be money and protection. I have enough of both. You, _ma belle colombe_ , would be mine easily, I thought.”

She smiled at him as he turned his head to kiss the thigh he started with, practicing last night’s lesson on drawing things out.

“And then, it turned out, what you wanted from me was my library, or access to it. Information was your currency,” he said, then kissed her thigh just outside of her quivering sex. “ _Mon Dieu_ , I thought, a woman who wants information values information and will undoubtedly have some information herself. Especially about that which I most wanted to learn.”

Elswyth shrieked with laughter as he surprised her, tickling her knee and suckling a nipple. He wrapped her in his arms and pulled her from her chair to carry her gently to the bed, all the while soothing her diamond hard nipples with his tongue. This young man was going to make leaving him very difficult. He was diversion itself. Soon he went back to his seduction story.

“So, there I was in the pleasure gardens with the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and she is letting me flirt with her by talking about books! I was so hard in my satin pants, and I knew you saw him there.”

“I did,” she said, looking down his slim young body. He was lean but not overly muscled. A youth who ate well and moved his body for pleasure, not livelihood. But his sex, it was a thing of beauty.She blew it a kiss. “For how could I miss _mon gros?_ ”

He smiled and traced his tongue around her breasts. “You flatter me, _Colombe_.”

She didn’t answer, caught up for a moment on enjoying his teeth worrying the edge of her nipple. He’d noticed that sensitive spot for himself. He had a little gap in his two front teeth, and it did tantalizing things with her nipples. After just the right amount of time, neither too much nor too little, he stopped and sat back.

“And yet you ignored him that night, and instead introduced my hand to your hot _minette_ almost as soon as we kissed,” he said, rubbing his thumb against her wet lower lips. “I had read so much about them, and I was curious. I could feel it, but not see it under your skirts. It felt so good I had to see it, and once I saw it,” he paused, moving himself lower, kissing her thighs again, “once I saw it I had to taste it.”He licked her from her pink star to her clit, causing her to lift her back and shoulders off the bed.

“Jean-Paul, dear, dear, Jean-Paul!” she called breathlessly as he made love to her pussy with his tongue. She flushed pink and came for him quickly, but then she pulled him by the hair, making him crawl up her body, his hard cock dripping early seed onto her legs and thighs. Taking him by surprise, she flipped him over and straddled him, her wet puss teasing the head of him only a little before she slid slowly down his thick length.

They made eye contact and he said, “Yes, I know. A deep breath, a slow breath.”

Elswyth nodded but tightened up on him, making him whimper. “Ah, my dove, so unfair. Let a man learn.”

She chuckled, causing him to whine a little more in soft Orlesian, but then she relaxed, letting him focus. She knew he was ready when he reached for her chin, sliding his thumb against her lips and into her mouth. She could taste herself on him. He was hers for the taking, she knew. After a moment, they started to fuck, muttering in Orleasian and Common, moving with and against each other well. She came again, and he took the moment to flip her over, now pinning her to the bed with his weight.

He had that look again - the one that broke Elswyth’s heart. It was an open, tender look that only meant one thing. Love. He was already in love with her, or nearly so, and had been from the moment he first sheathed himself in her. “ _Mon Colombe_ ,” he whispered in her ear, now moving his body so close to hers it almost seemed they were one. “ _Mon Colombe_ , fly to the heavens with me!” he begged.

Elswyth was glad of this closeness because she could turn her head away and hold his mouthto her neck so he couldn’t see her tears, even as she cried out in pleasure, “Yes! _Vin! Vera em su tarasyl, vera em ve’solasan!_ ”

“Fly my little dove!” he whispered after she felt him come inside her.

They kissed as they came down, but she was unable to hide her tears from him any longer. “ _Qu'est-ce que c'est_ , have I hurt you?” he asked, sitting up and pulling her into his lap.

“No!” she said quickly, kissing him. “No, no! You are perfect. It’s just that I - Iworry for you, _mon chou_. I am a complicated woman. I have responsibilities. You shouldn’t - you shouldn’t.” She couldn’t finish her sentence.

He kissed her tears, her lips, caressed the points of her ears with his thumbs. “Ah, _Colombe_ , it is too late. I already love you, but I know what you mean. I would put you in a _colombier_ , in a dovecote, and you would want to be free,” he said, a wistful smile on his face. “This is what I get from reading too many books,” he said sadly. He hugged her to him. “Would you like to hear, truly, why I was so innocent, _mon Colombe_?”

“Please, Jean-Paul. I would hear it,” she said.

“Have you ever read any Vashoth poetry?”

She shrugged. “Some.”

“ _Mon Dieu_ , you should. Because this Vashoth poet, he wrote a poem in Ancient times about an elven healer, Sanipkur, who mourned the loss of her love in a great war. It went something like ‘fair she with hair of white winged-dove, handmaiden to wisest kindest Love, who weeps each day from eyes of blue, such tears as would tame the wildest wolf,’ or something like that - the translation was from early Qundalat and the translator was no poet. But the point is a young knight named Galaad sought a cure for his broken heart and ended up falling in love with Sanipkur. It took him forever, but finally he won her heart.”

Jean-Paul kissed her. “This poem haunted me, with the white haired healer and her knight Galaad. I wanted to save myself for someone as good and beautiful as Sanipkur, I wanted to be Galaad. When I met you, you were like Sanipkur brought to life. I have been in love with you from the moment you laughed in the garden.”

Elswyth kissed him before she said, “Branhalil, the poet’s name was Branhalil. I have heard that one before. Thank you for reminding me of it. No matter how old I get, I always have something to learn from old tales.”

_“Ça va_ , I still have much to learn, too, before I must go home. I still have some time with you, yes? Before I must rely on time and patience to heal a broken heart?”

“Yes, _mon chou_. As much time as I can manage,” she promised.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next, Vella and Cullen explore the Shrine of Dumat along side their closest companions. Also, I *might* have started a story version of Sanipkur and Galaad. Apologies to Virgil and Gaiman for stealing shamelessly; one because it was expedient and I am lazy, and the other as worship and obeisance. Go read Gaiman's short story "Chivalry" - so fucking good.


	48. Maddox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trevelyan is on the mend, but Cullen worries whether she's really ready to get back into the fight. They hit Samson's lair at last. **M/F voyeurism and oral sex**

***

While their trist in the garden at Halamshiral had been discreet, there were enough Orlesian courtiers at Skyhold to ensure it was tacitly understood that the Commander was the Inquisitor’s lover, as well as the Champion of the Herald of Andraste. Their allies, it seemed, approved with a wink and a nod as the Duchesse du Bourget had given them rooms next to each other, with a lovely passage between like at the Winter Palace. This plausible deniability, however, signaled that the nobles were still scheming as to the marriage prospects of the Herald of Andraste and the Commander of the Inquisition. Otherwise, they would have simply been given one room. 

Sadly, Trevelyan's fever returned the evening of their arrival at Bourget, a result of the tinctures and poultices not being quite right after being made by novice healers and on the road. Fortunately, Illia was waiting for her with the rest of the advisors and took over making her medicine. Her fever had come down almost immediately, but after seeing her, and knowing the pair were unlikely to be separated, Illia had been very clear about the definition of bed rest. 

When she woke a few mornings later, wearing the lovely linen pajamas Elswyth had made for them and tucked up to Cullen with her cheek against his chest, she finally felt as if the whole ordeal of her sickness was behind her.

She felt him stir. “Good morning, Andymion,” she said.

“Shh, Lady Moon, if I wake, the day will have to begin, including interminable meetings, small talk with nobles, and preparations for adventures that will take you away from me again. But if I lay here, eyes closed, then all I have to do is enjoy you at my side. No Samson. No Adamant. Just Satina and Andymion,” Cullen said, “Or even better, Trevelyanand Cullen and those beautiful breasts of yours pressed against me. Heaven itself.”

Trevelyan smiled into his chest. “Not quite. If it were heaven we’d both be naked,” she teased.

Cullen chuckled, then turned toward her. They looked at each other. “Close enough. Wouldn’t want to get greedy,” he whispered. “We push the Maker’s grace enough. I’m just going to be grateful.”

Trevelyan rubbed a thumb over his lip and scar. “Hmm. Being able to have you at arms’ reach is something to be grateful for, without a doubt.”

They kissed, but gently. To be honest, Trevelyan didn’t yet have a real desire. Nothing beyond holding him anyway.

Cullen kissed the tip of her nose. “I have a treat for you. They’ve set up some couches and an awning by the lakeside lawns. Varric has invited Garrett and his family, and a few of our companions for a picnic. There is a new game from Antiva everyone is going mad for, it’s played with a ball and rackets, and people running about on grass. Two teams of two, or one on one play across a net from one another.Each side tries to get the ball past the other to score a point. I watched a little yesterday while you were sleeping.”

“They’re letting me out of bed today?” Trevelyan said, actually excited. All of the meetings had been conducted in the makeshift war room, the second best dining room, but she’d been given briefings with her laying on a couch in her room. She was getting restless.

“Yes, to walk to the couches and sit under the awning to watch everyone play,” he said as he got out of bed. “Cassandra and Sera are coming to you for breakfast, along with Josephine and Leliana. Vivienne and Dorian have been invited to go sailing by some comte. And Elswyth, of course, she will be here soon. Varric will escort all of you down to the lawns.”

“Are you not staying for breakfast?” she asked.

“I cannot. I have an appointment I must keep. It’s for a surprise for you, but I must leave you to see about getting it done.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“If I told you, Trevelyan, it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it?” he said as he backed toward the secret passage. He blew her a kiss, and walked away with the little squaring of his shoulders that let her know he was feeling very self-satisfied. She smiled at his back. It was probably going to be a very good surprise.

 

***

 

After a wonderful breakfast with much gossip and catching up, and many plans for diplomacy with Josephine and secrets with Leliana, Elswyth brought out a big trunk just arrived from Skyhold.

In a display of odd solidarity, all of the women in the room cooed over the box of fine silk outfits. They were long, pintucked tunic dresses, nipped in at the waist, with matching pants. Flimy lengths of silk with embroidered edges that could be worn as hood, wrap, or ornament were also included.

“I’ve been waiting for the perfect time for these clothes. They are from Rialto, where I saw them just before I came to Skyhold," Elswyth explained. "I ordered them not long after. It’s just taken this long for all of us to be in a warm climate and in need of - distinctive clothes. I’ve picked out one for each of you, but only if you choose to wear it. They are very sheer, so you can’t be shy when you wear them. I was told they were ‘all the rage’ with the young noblewomen in Antiva. Especially the racier ones. Orlais is ready for a shake up, and besides, this is a pleasure palace. You could walk around in chainmail small clothes and no one would bat an eye.”

“Do you think Cullen would like that? Chainmail small clothes?” Vella asked as she wiggled into the fine grey silk dress and adjusted her breasts. The pintucks and embroidery were the only thing keeping her nipples from public view, the double layer of the pants and top the only thing secreting her sex and bottom.

“To wear, or to see you wear?” Cassandra asked from behind a screen as she changed.

Vella laughed. “Cassandra!”

“Don’t be too surprised, Trevleyan. Cassandra is actually a woman under her armor, just as much as Cullen is a man under his. Galyan, may he rest easy at the Maker’s side, was a lucky man,” Leliana teased. “It is good we are hearing her voice these thoughts again.”

Cassandra stepped out from behind the screen where she had changed her armor for the burgundy silk tunic and split leg pants. Her warm skin and amber eyes were set off by the deep color. Cassandra’s high, tight breasts poked against the fabric, only to be out done by the bare length of her muscular legs. She was stunning, so much so, the other ladies stood speechless.

Cassandra looked a bit bored with it all. “What? Every time I am not in armor you all stare. Are you surprised I have a woman’s body under that metal? Or is it that I have a wanton thought now and then?” she asked, fluffing her hair in a mirror. “I assure you, I do have them, but it has been a very long time. Galyan deserves more time, even than this. Perhaps it is this palace or these clothes. In any case, I have been too hot since we arrived and this is better than going naked. If the Commander can take a day, so can I.” Then she turned to Vella, “And if you do not mind my saying so, chainmail small clothes for the Commander to wear. He would probably like it, once you got him past his sense of decorum.”

The ladies chuckled knowingly. Leliana and Josephine loved to tease him at the War Table, where his professional discipline and social disinterest battled with his more natural pride. Trevelyan always soothed him afterwards, but she did find it amusing.

“Can we not speak of the Wuls like this? I know you lot like a man, but ugh,” Sera said, making a face. “Twigs and berries. I dunno how they live with them or why you’d wanna touch em.”

Elswyth stood cool and collected in her ice blue outfit, doing Vella’s hair. “Perhaps Sera is correct. The Commander is dignified and accomplished. He has earned the right to be proud, but instead chooses to behave in the world with a quiet modesty. We should respect that. Otherwise he’ll stop showing us how beautiful he is. Humility is a rare thing.”

A knock at the door stopped the chatter as Varric had come to take them to the lawns.

 

***

 

A little later, Elswyth smiled in enjoyment, watching the men play real tennis and Trevelyan relaxing with her friends. Dagger training would start tomorrow. If it went well, they would leave for the Shrine of Dumat and Vella would be back to risking her life to save Thedas. Ellie was glad of her white hair, as it could never go grey from worrying.

She had watched Vella carefully during this last bit of her recovery, concerned that she wasn’t taking the fact that she nearly died seriously enough. But then she saw it, the little girl lost face she got whenever Cullen hugged her or held her. Vella truly was concerned, but she was controlling it so very tightly it only surfaced when she felt safe. Elswyth was relieved. Elswyth admired the way Cullen handled it all. It seemed they leaned on each other in such a way that both were stronger for it. She hoped they knew how lucky the were to have each other.

Cullen surprised all of them, not only her dear Vella, by wearing clothes, simpler versions of the Orlesian fashions. Though clearly nervous at first, he looked quite dashing in his ruffled white shirt, linen pants, and leather boots; his long cotton brocade vest had been discarded, however, with the start of the game.

But perhaps it was his reaction to Vella’s beauty that had made Elswyth the happiest.

“You wear the very clouds, Lady Moon,” he said when he bowed and kissed her hand. Vella had no words, but her smile was enough. The man must read poetry; Ellie wondered how he found the time.

Later, Elswyth cheered along with her friend as the players swatted the ball back and forth over the net and lawn with their rackets, rotating partners and games willy-nilly. None were experts at the game, and it was really more the day, the place, and the people than the sport that kept them laughing and happy.

Of the party, Sera, Cassandra, Cullen, Garrett, Fenris, and Jean-Paul each took turns playing to varying levels of success. Cassandra and Jean-Paul played well enough, as they had learned _pallacorda_ , a similar game, as children, with Cullen and Fenris picking it up quickly enough to keep the game going. Garrett and Sera, on the other hand, were hopeless cases, and each played more out of good humor than anything else. Elswyth decided she would bring this back to Skyhold. It was as fun to watch as it was to play.

Garrett was the jocular humorist Elwyth knew him to be from Skyhold, and he seemed to be the center around which the men orbited when they were not on the court, just as Trevelyan was the center of the ladies. Fenris, it turned out, was not the dour, gloomy, savage misanthrope she had been led to believe he was; he was all of those things, to be sure, but he was not only those things. He had a dry wit, quick to tease Garrett and Varric, and on several memorable occasions, to poke fun at Cullen, who laughed without reservation at his jibes.

For her part, Elswyth saw nothing that labeled the elf a danger. Seeing him in battle might change her opinion, but she had that feeling about all warriors. Given how he was with the tennis racket, Elwyth was willing to bet he was dangerous with a blade. His tattoos had stayed quiet thus far, so she still had little idea what to make of those. His markings were unique, but did not seem to control him. She would not know him better without either time or battle. However, it was clear Cullen liked him, Varric held him in high regard, and Garrett loved him. She gave him her conditional approval and hoped for the best.

It was the quiet Orana that gave Elswyth more trouble. Elswyth had worn no wimple on purpose, hoping to encourage the young woman to speak one elf to another, but even so Orana seemed entirely overmatched by the ladies of Skyhold, preferring mostly to sit and listen or pet Hawke’s Mabari, who she called Canem, while the ladies chatted.

Surprisingly, it was Cullen who came from the game to check on Orana and open the door to conversation.

“Are you alright Orana? Can I get you anything?” he asked, handing her one of the two glasses of lemonade he carried.

Orana smiled at him, like an old friend. “Other than this, no, Ser Cullen. I am fine. The baby makes it hard to eat or drink very much at any one time. I end up eating a little bit all day,” she said. “I’ll be hungry shortly, I’m sure.”

He took a knee next to her. “Just let me know when, or Dame Elswyth here. She is helpfulness itself, and one of my favorite people. Trevelyan too, you will find a gracious companion,” he said. “Indeed, all of these ladies, except perhaps Sera, would aid you in anything you would need. They save my backside all the time.”

Orana chuckled and then took a long drink of lemonade. A funny look crossed her face, and she grabbed Cullen’s hand, placing it on the side of the bump. “Feel that?”

Cullen’s shocked expression said that he did.

“The baby likes lemonade,” Orana said. “Every time I drink it, it’s like a party in there!”

Cullen set down his glass and placed both hands on her belly. She took another drink of the cool liquid and Cullen’s face lit up again. “Indeed. I can feel it move!”

Garrett noticed the pair. “Oy! Rutherford! You’re supposed to flirt with me!” he said.

“Sorry Hawke, but you’re not as interesting as Orana. Besides, I am spoken for.”

“Indeed?” Garrett said, raising an eyebrow at Cullen. Elswyth wondered how Garrett had missed this development between Trevelyan and his friend, but then again, Garrett was more of an in-the-moment kind of soul.

“Yes, Garrett,” Trevelyan said. “I should dislike having to harm you. Fenris might take exception and then where would we be?”

“Really?” Garrett looked at Vella. “So you think you know just what to do with Curly over here, do you?”

Trevelyan lie back on the couch, wiggling a little and turning her shoulders just enough that her rounded breasts pressed against the pale silks. She patted the couch next to her. Elswyth had no doubt Trevelyan knew full well how it looked, and what she asked.

“This is beautiful, Orana,” Cullen said to the belly as he stood. “But I am afraid I wish to be here,” he said as he moved decisively to Trevelyan’s side, taking her hand and kissing it.

Trevelyan leaned over and kissed Cullen full on the lips, to Garrett’s delight.

“Perfect! She’s not one to miss the dragon for the dragonlings, eh Curly?” Garret said, then came over to shake Cullen’s hand, kiss Trevelyan’s, and give Orana’s belly a rub and cheek a peck.

The next few minutes the friends peppered Orana and Garrett with questions about the baby, teased the newly disclosed couple, and praised the game. Eventually the chatter died down and the game picked up again.

Elswyth turned to Orana, who was only too happy to be done answering questions about how she felt, what she wanted - boy or girl - and Sera’s rather rude inquiry about whether or not she knew which of the men was the father.

Fenris said he hoped it was Hawke’s. Hawke said he hoped it was Fenris’. Orana had said it didn’t matter to her. Elswyth believed her.

“I did not know you were acquainted with the Commander?” she asked when the conversation and attention moved on.

Orana smiled. “Oh yes, we met in Kirkwall, well before the Troubles. But he was only Ser Cullen then, a Knight-Captain. He often came to dine or play cards, and I know he had some of the Templars looking out for me when I went into town, at least when they could. I went through a phase. They pulled me out of some very questionable situations, and for that I will always be grateful. It is good to see him so - happy,” Orana said.

“He was not happy in Kirkwall?”

“No, I don’t think he was, though he never said. He did his duty, and he liked that. He liked cards with Varric and such, but this smile, this smile I’ve never seen before. Also, he’s not so pale and sharp as he was then. He’s - softer. Perhaps it is serving Her Worship that does this,” she said with a final nod.

“That is good to hear,” Elswyth said. “The Commander, I like him very much, and my dear friend Trevelyan cares for him so. I have hope they find love and contentment in this dangerous time.”

“Me too, Dame Elswyth. The Inquisitor does seem to let her eye follow him, and he is devotion itself. Service is a kind of love, isn’t it? Look at Canem here, he loves Hawke so much he follows him into battle. Though romantic love would be such a wonderful thing to see,” Orana said. “I don’t have much experience with that kind of love.”

“Do you not love your men, Orana? Hawke is a charming fellow, but I must admit to not being at all acquainted with Fenris.”

“You serve Her Worship. You are part of her House and have known her for some time - do you not love her?” the young elf asked. Orana looked down at her belly and rubbed it. “My messeres are excellent men, and I serve them as well as I am able. They are loving men, too, both of them. With Messere Garrett it is easy to see. With Messere Fenris, he is much more guarded, but loving even so. You just have to know how to look. This baby and I are very lucky. We are loved; I do love them. But not as they love each other. Nor as I suspect, Ser Cullen loves Her Worship. But I am no expert, with so little time spent in the wider world. My parents loved me, and I them. This love - the love of a parent for a child - this I have experienced and this I understand. For now, that is enough.”

Elswyth was touched. This girl was wiser than she looked.

Orana hesitated, as if she was going to speak but stopped.

Elswyth took a sip of her lemonade. “You may speak freely here, Orana. Please take the Commander at his word - I will help you in any way I can. Like you, I wish to be of good service.”

Orana bit her lip, rubbing at her belly. She started taking slow deep breaths.Canem started to whine softly.

Elswyth recognized the contraction for what it was and simply waited for her to relax before she spoke. “I can see this may not be the time. Just know, all you need to concern yourself with is birthing that baby. When you know what you need, you have only to ask.”

Orana’s face relaxed, and she nodded, smiled even. Fenris appeared at Orana’s side with afrown for Elswyth. “Is she tiring you, _Delicata_?” he asked, placing a hand on Orana’s shoulder.

Orana leaned into him and patted his hand. “No, no, _Tristis._ I am fine. Dame Elswyth was keeping me company.”

He glowered at Elswyth, but she only smiled.

“Do you need food? Cullen mentioned you might be hungry,” Fenris asked, a small smile for Orana teasing the corner of his mouth.

“Not hungry, but I am tired. I think the heat out here is perhaps too much, even in the shade. Also, your child is doing somersaults in here. I may need the privy soon. Would you like to take me back, or should we ask our _Felix_?” she said.

He offered Orana his hand. “I will take you,” he said. He helped her rise from the couch and settled her on his arm. Then he said, “Forgive me, Dame Elswyth, for volunteering to leave, but Garrett likes this sort of thing much more than I do.”

“That may be true normally, but you like these men, and the game,” Elswyth said. “I know it is because Lord Dorian may be back soon, and you are ambivalent at best about meeting him. It is alright, to be selective in your company, Messere Fenris,” Elswyth. “Dodo pushes quite a few buttons when he can - he’s not good at being bored. I shall make your excuses for you.Please, if you or Orana need anything, call upon me. I speak for Trevelyanin many things.”

Fenris spared her a sly smile. “I see you can play the Game, Dame Elswyth, but will use honesty, where it is a better option. Perhaps we will speak again while we tarry here in this place. It is rare to meet an elf as powerful as you in the human world. I’m curious. What did you have to do to get this power? And more to the point, what do you want with us?”

“Fenris!” Orana said. “This is not Tevinter!”

Elswyth was surprised. “No, don’t chastise him. It is a fair question. You are blunt, Fenris, but you do not offend. Know this - as for me and mine, we are your friends, whether you would have us or no. As I said to Orana, you have only to ask."

“We shall see, Dame Elswyth. In time, we shall see,” Fenris said.

Elswyth smiled at the young woman, and Fenris himself. He glowered harder. As she watched them go, trailed by the big Mabari, she almost envied the girl. Pretty men were hardly ever that physically strong and mentally sagacious. Cullen was handsome, a powerful warrior, and intelligent - but he lacked guile.All the most delicious and dangerous men had it. Hawke and Orana did not know what they had in this Fenris.

***

Each night of their journey to the Shrine of Dumat, Trevelyan sparred with Heir, her trainer, and each night had seen her getting better, but Cullen could tell she wasn’t up to her usual standard. Trevelyan was not as quick as she usually was, not as precise either.Close, but not quite there. He wished they could delay another day or two, but they risked discovery with each passing hour, let alone another forty-eight. They had to strike on the morrow or risk the whole operation. Still, he would be with her. He would be there in the forces that would be their vanguard and their back up as they took the shrine, and he would be there himself, with his sword, shield, and life’s blood, should she need it.Being at her side made her return to battle at least a little easier. 

He let these ideas scrap a bit in his thoughts as he sat in his pajamas at the small dining table in their tent. He was doing one of his favorite things - watching her bathe - but pretending he wasn’t. She was moving slowly, carefully soaping and rinsing each body part, particularly her sensitive bits, posing and primping, and toying with a new silver necklace in the long mirror that had somehow appeared in their tent along with the bathing tub and water. “Back to your old tricks, I see,” he said, reviewing the last orders for tomorrow, or at least pretending to review them.

She left the tub and came over to the table. She leaned back in the wooden chair across from him, now wrapped in towels, body and hair. She put her long legs up the table’s edge, knowing full well her sex would be peaking out from her thighs and towels. “I have no idea what you are speaking of, ser.”

“Quite,” was all the reply he gave, successfully suppressing all reactions except a tiny smirk. Maker, but she had such a tempting body, most of which was now slipping into view as her towel fell to the sides. As put out as he was at her behavior, he was also relieved. Between this unsubtle attempt at seducing him and her skilled sparring earlier, he was vastly comforted. Trevelyan was Trevlyan again, wanton desires, vicious daggers, and boundary testing all in place.

If he knew she was truly ready for Adamant, then he could focus on getting all the rest of it done for her - trebuchets, siege engines, ladders, and troops. But that was just it - if she was ready.He wrote out one last order in the neat capital print of the Templars, signed it, and set it aside, finally giving Trevelyanthe attention she’d been shamelessly trying to attract. “My dear Trevelyan, if I can get you through tomorrow without a serious wound, I know you’ll be ready for Adamant. So you need your rest,” he said. “We both need our rest.”

“I can get myself through tomorrow, thank you. I know we need our rest, but we also need the other _R_ you soldiers are so keen on,” she said, dropping her hand to her now completely visible sex. She stroked the silky, trimmed hair on her mound, pressed her fingers along her lower lips, and pulled the towel from her hair, letting her long inky locks tickle along the tops of her breasts. Then she ran her hand along the gap between her breasts to catch up the necklace’s pendant and tug on it.

“And what would that be again?” he asked, remaining motionless in his chair, but letting his gaze fall exactly where she wanted it. He had his limits, but he was not a bore.

She pushed the chair away from the table and spread her long legs over the arms, the pink of her inner lips clear to him now. “You know, _relaxation_.”

She continued to tease herself, her fingers and sex growing shiny and slick, her womanhood plump and pink. Cullen felt himself swelling in his pants. It had been some time since he’d - relaxed himself. He shifted in his seat, but made no other movements. He suspected she knew he wouldn’t and that it was part of her own enjoyment. Litany training was as useful in the bedroom as on the battlefield, he mused.

Maker, but he loved watching her touch herself - a squeeze along her sex, a pinch to her nipples. She was moving slowly, no reason to rush.

He met her gaze, knowing she could read his desire for her plainly. Her lower lip quivered, and she fought her eyes closing. He took a sharp breath.

He watched her take her slow pleasure, wishing every moment that her hands were his, that her fingers were his tongue at her breast. Most of all, he fantasized about how it would feel to sink into her, the feel of that beautiful sex rippling around him as he gave them both sweet release. The chair creaked as he gripped its arms and willed himself to stay put.

At this sound, she looked into his eyes, and whatever she saw made her cheeks and chest flush. She slipped her long fingers inside herself, setting a rhythm he wanted to commit to memory. She mewled and gasped - Sweet Maker he loved that sound - and gradually came undone. His member lurched in his pants, but he didn’t move to touch himself. Still too tempting.

She looked at him, taking in his own flushed features and the unmistakable erection in his pants, and smiled. She trailed her fingers over her lips and sucked on them briefly. Then she stood and walked toward him, still naked but towel in hand.

“Trevelyan,” he said warningly as she drew closer.

She stopped, but then folded the towel and dropped it at his feet. “Machushla, I propose nothing that would break our agreement. Please allow me to please you,” she said standing naked just a step away.

He looked down at the towel, beginning to understand her purpose. “As you wish,” he whispered.

She stepped in front of the towel, and bent towardhim and kissed him, then traced his lips with her finger. He could scent her on them. His member twitched under the hand she placed against him, his pajama pants separating him from her soft skin but not the heat of her. 

She knelt before him, and let him look at her, then she squeezed him. He saw her pupils dilate with pleasure, realizing he was still hard for her.

“May I take these off?” she asked, pulling the string that tied the pants securely in place.

Cullen glared at her, but she gave him no sass in her gaze. “Sit back. I’ll do it,” he said.

She sat back on her heels and waited for him. He untied the knot and shuffled them down his legs to the floor. Then he kicked them to the side. For the next few beats, her eyes drank him in. “May I touch you now?” she asked.

He nodded.

She leaned forward, and let her hands trace up his legs to his knees. At the soft pressure of her thumbs on the inside of his thighs he let his legs fall open. She leaned forward and rubbed her cheeks against his hard cock, like a cat claiming her territory. Every part of him was already hers, but he loved her fervor for him. Perhaps she did feel for him everything he felt for her. Perhaps - the thought was cut short by the feeling of her mouth on his cockhead. Her skilled tongue fluttered over his sensitive head, and he stopped thinking.

He let his hands reach for her, sliding his fingers into her wet hair. She took him all, deeply, almost easily. The eye contact alone was going to make him come. After a time, she pulled off and said, “Look at the mirror.”

Cullen let his eyes flick to the mirror. Maker’s Breath, but he could see them reflected, see her pink slit fat and wet again, see her bottom swaying as she sucked him, feel her mouth and teeth and tongue and hands on his hardness. The sight of her on her knees, head in his lap, sex practically calling out for him pushed him closer to the edge. He grabbed the back of the chair and slid down the seat a little, thrusting up into her willing mouth.

He felt her change her grip on him as he moved against her, and looked down. He could see her face, and just beyond it, her swaying breasts. Movement in the mirror drew his attention back up. Her bottom swayed, and she moved her knees farther apart. She was playing with them both now. She moaned and shuddered, the sensation on his cock felt incredible. He looked back down to see the blush of her orgasm. Then he saw her impish expression, and felt her slippery, wet fingers press on his back passage. It broke his control, and he came, growling, spurting hot seed into her mouth, and when she pulled off, onto her chest. She was sensuality itself, as he watched her, caught in the afterglow, a bit sweaty and flushed, wearing nothing but him and a silver chain.

Cullen finally noticed the pendant on the chain she wore. “Is that my silver? The one I gave you in Honnleath?”

She nodded. “Yes. The _duchesse_ has a wonderful jeweler on staff. I've been waiting to have it done by someone skilled, but I also haven’t wanted to part with it. I was sure I was safe enough at the château. The better question is are you relaxed now, Commander?” she asked as she stood, retrieving the towel and dabbing lightly at her chest.

“Yes, Herald. Very Relaxed,” he said. He stood, walked to her and kissed her. “But it looks like you could use another bath.”

She shook her head. “No, no. I wear you for luck now,” she said as she moved over to where her pajamas lay. She put them on quickly. “Call it my war paint.”

“You are rather - unconventional - for one who does the bidding of Holy Andraste,” he said, stepping into his bottoms and tying them up again. “Maker knows how much I happen to like that about you, but it still surprises me now and then.” He’d never expected a daughter of the nobility to be so unfettered in her sexual proclivities. Not that he was complaining. He had taken himself out of the Templars, but doubted he could take the Templar out of the man. She was always challenging his restraint.

They puttered a bit getting ready for bed, but then climbed into the double sized campaign bed made specially for this trip. They snuggled, as they had gotten used to doing. Cullen’s thoughts ran back to tomorrow’s attack and the greater battle of Adamant. Having her in his arms, the sight of her naked and orgasmic, it made the morning’s work easier and more difficult. However, there was nowhere else he would rather be.

“Cullen,” she said. “I really like the idea of carrying you with me into battle, physically. Thank you for not being weird about it.” She had an uncharacteristically uncertain look on her face.

He rubbed her back. “I am a failed Templar and recovering lyrium addict from the Mabari’s end of Ferelden. That someone like you, with all your gifts, would even look at me twice constantly amazes me. If you can accept me with that, what could you possibly do, my lady, that would make me think less of you?” he said. Still, he could see his words gave her little comfort.

“And if you must know, thinking that tomorrow you go to battle with - me - on you does give me a great deal of naughty pleasure,” he said. He caught her face in his hand. “That mirror! Sassy minx that you are, you made me want to put it inside you.”

Trevelyangiggled at that. “Some of it is, just not anywhere problematic. You taste good, did you know that?”

He kissed her, unable to think of a response. “Can we sleep now? Before you embarrass me any further?”

Her laughter was loud and low, and no doubt made the camp wonder about what was going on in the tent. Cullen, for his part, was too happy to care what anyone thought.

 

***

 

In the pale light of dawn, Inquisition forces moved to surround the stronghold, the alleged Shrine of Dumat. Vella, Cullen, Bull, Dorian, and Varric walked from behind the lines of troop and through the gate of the fortress. There was no resistance, even as they walked into the keep. However, before they left the relative shelter of the main gate, they stopped to plan.

“So much for the heart of Samson’s operations. I see only a few red lyrium creatures and even fewer Red Templars,” Trevelyan said.

“Maker’s Breath,” Cullen said, “I hope he hasn’t slipped through our fingers.” He looked toward the rest of the keep. “Still, we’ve got to take the objective and they won’t make it easy. If I might, Inquisitor?” He didn’t want to make it look like he was taking over.

“No, please,” she said. “To work!”

Cullen nodded. “Alright, we’ve blind corners to either side. Trevelyan and Varric should move out first, attacking whatever is up there as stealthily and as quickly as they can. Bull and I will follow when we hear engagement.Dorian, you should stay well behind, providing cover for each side. The Red Templars won’t break formation, at least not at first, but the beasts will. We have to stay far enough back that the squad in front of the doors won’t think it’s a good idea to give up the high ground and join in. Don’t want to be outnumbered. So, first round hit hard and fast, then do what you can. Remember crowd control and don’t get too far ahead of the pair on the opposite side. Dorian, just pick a side once we start down the wall walks. Bull, you go with Varric and I’ll go with the Inquisitor. Any questions?”

Trevelyan raised her eyebrow at him, not being used to seeing him plan and give orders on the fly. “Hard and fast?” she asked with a grin.

Cullen felt himself blush. “Stealthy, hard and fast. Take advantage of surprise to inflict as much damage as possible in the first blows.”

“Alright, did you get that?” she asked. The men nodded. She looked at Varric, “Let’s get shadowy.”

“I’ll go right, you go left?” Varric asked. Trevelyan nodded, and within a second, both pulled stealth and were nearly impossible to see.

Cullen drew his sword quietly, and Bull did the same with his war hammer. They moved to the corner of the main gates and waited, listening for sounds of battle. At the sound of wood splintering, both warriors rushed out to join the rogues on their side.

Cullen rushed up the stairs to the red lyrium beast. It was huge, half again as tall as a regular man with vicious red crystals sticking up out of it’s hunched shoulders. It’s hands were claws, and the elongated fingers looked to be growing red lyrium nails.The creature seemed to be swinging wildly at an unknown force. Then he saw her appear, blades flashing, to do even more damage. Now that he knew where she was, he could strike with confidence. He taunted the beast, drawing it’s attention away from the little blades. It swung at him, but he stepped aside. He used it’s momentum against it, shield bashing it off balance. Then he and Trevelyan hit it with everything they had. Soon it went down for good.

Cullen looked over to see Varric and Bull finish their red lyrium beasts off, and waved to Dorian to follow them. Trevelyan was already down their side of the main courtyard, using a smoke grenade to go into stealth as she ran. Damn that woman was quick; he took off at a full run after her.Together they brought down another beast, then gamely crossed the main yard to help Bull, Varric, and Dorian.

“Thanks Boss,” Bull said in between swigging a healing potion and a rock armor tonic. “Took a couple of red lyrium bolts from a Red Templar Shadow early in the fight. Varric and Dorian had to pick up the slack.”

“I always come for my people, you know that, Bull,” Trevelyan said.

Cullen swept his gaze over the main yard. “We’ve just the three at the top of the stairs, two Red Templars with advanced corruption but still lucid, and that Red Lyrium Knight. He’ll be strong as well as aggressive - and we have reason to believe he can influence the other Templars to greater feats of strength and stamina. We could go down the balcony and attack from the side, but I don’t like the idea of being right in front of that door. We don’t know what’s in there. Worst case they come pouring out and we end up giving ground and starting an uphill fight.”

“Same plan as before then,” Trevelyan said. “You and Bull and Dorian head to the bottom of that staircase and draw their attention, if not their attack, and Varric and I will hit them from behind, forcing them down the stairs to you. Might have a little bit of an uphill fight, but it won’t be like Griffon Wing Keep. What is it with staircases in these old places?”

Cullen hated having her put herself in the way like that, but it was what she always did, would do if he wasn’t here. He could hardly stop her.

Bull tested his newly healed shoulder as he said, “Cullen, the Boss is right. Tons of Reds come out those doors, we fall back to the next set of stairs and try to flank them.”

Cullen knew they did not want a stand up fight in that little space in front of the doors and time was ticking by. “Good point. We make it happen at your word Inquisitor.”

Cullen, Bull, and Dorian made for the bottom of the stairs while Varric and Trevelyan went into stealth. Dorian cast some area of effect spells, and Bull and he taunted and challenged the Red Templars to see if they would break. They didn’t until they where hit from behind with Varric’s explosive shot and Vella’s spinning blades. Then they used the stairs to move away from these attacks and right into Dorian’s traps. Dorian followed the traps up with a few low-level frost spells Vivienne had taught him and bolts from his staff, also containing a frost rune. Finally, he and Bull engaged the lesser red lyrium beasts. Together they defeated all but the Red Templar Knight, who retreated up the stairs toward the doors.

They went after him, only to be stopped in their advance by a towering red lyrium behemoth walking purposefully out of the keep. Cullen was once again shocked at the sight of a Behemoth, as he hadn’t seen one since Haven. The reports he was getting more frequently about them paled in comparison to the real thing. It seemed twenty feet tall, and have been completely remade in red lyrium - more a walking crystal than a human. One arm and hand had been remade into an axe with sharp crystals sticking out all over the other limbs. Any contact with this thing was going to hurt. He refocused himself and prayed to the Maker to see him through.

“Warriors!” he heard Trevelyan yell, “stay with the Behemoth! Dorian - we take the Red Templar.”

Cullen moved to follow her orders, as did Bull and Varric. He lost sight of her and Dorian as he face the monster down. His body reacted without much thought, the years of training, fighting, and study all coming down now to simple muscle memory.

Bull and he switched off taking the brunt of the attacks while Varric picked away at the beast with Bianca. Cullen felt himself tiring - none of his Templar abilities would work against these beasts. Cold was their only weakness, and though the master cold rune in his sword was doing its best, the fight was taking its toll on he and Bull. This beast was going to be a battle of attrition. He prayed he and Bull had the stamina to beat it out.

Too soon Bull stumbled and went to a knee, having taken one too many hits from the beast’s club arm. There had been little time for healing, but Cullen still had a little left to give. He pulled Bull up and pushed him, sending him far enough away that he might be able to swig a potion before the monster swung again. Behemoths hit with a wallop, but they were a little slow.

Cullen smashed his shield into the beast, hoping to throw it off again, even as his sword pierced its tough skin, crystal, and armor hide. When Cullen moved to pull his sword back and move away for another pass, it caught up on something within the beast, likely a crystal shard or a bone, and he couldn’t removed it. He gave it a good jerk upwards and to the side, but it didn’t budge. He had moments to try again or give up the weapon. He swung his shield at the weapon; it loosened, but didn’t come free.

Cullen knew he had to fall back, but just as he realized it he took a hit on his shield that staggered him. The Behemoth raised his axe arm, and Cullen knew he wasn’t going to be able to get away fast enough. But then the giant beast fell to its knees, dropping its arm in the process. Cullen backed up, moving down several steps to get away as it continued to fall. Finally, he saw Trevelyan riding the Behemoth down, her daggers plunged into its back. She jumped off, just as the shade of the Templar it had been dusted into oblivion. It was a sight he never wished to see again. Cullen wished him well, and that the trip to the Maker’s side not be marred by Red Lyrium. Then he thanked the Maker for their lives and for Trevelyan’s wicked daggers.

“I told you I would be fine, Commander,” she teased.

“I never doubted you for a moment,” he said as he caught his breath. They were all heaving great breaths, and Bull looked a little pale. Tonics and potions were taken all around before they moved into the building.

The halls were already in flames, walls collapsed in places, with flaming debris piled up to block any organized passage in numbers.

“This place is already sacked,” Trevelyan said.

“Curly, it looks like someone beat us to the punch. They must have been tipped off,” Varric said.

Cullen took one look and knew what had happened, the barricades were pure Samson, same patterns he’d used in Kirkwall. “Samson sacked his own headquarters so we wouldn’t be able to!” Cullen said. “Somewhere, word leaked to Samson. Not that I’m terribly surprised. We’ve got so many resources pointed at Adamant, and we couldn’t get here fast enough.” He rubbed his neck in frustration, but seeing Trevelyan standing before him healthy and perfect, if a little blood spattered, he sighed. “Still, this is a blow to Samson. If we can retrieve some intelligence it just might be okay.”

Trevelyan salvaged some supplies and handed them out to her companions. “Well then, let’s finish this fast so we can get teams here to put out fires - save as much evidence as we can and sift it out later.”

The group looked out over this central hall and made hasty plans for the attack.

“Fucking stairs again, hey Boss?” Bull said.

“Fucking stairs,” she agreed, shaking her head. “Come on, Commander. You’ve got the call.”

Cullen unsheathed his sword and headed for the stairs, “For the Inquisition!” he bellowed.

The team hit the few remaining beasts hard, energized to save as much evidence as possible. The red lyrium beasts were tough, but dumb, as if their training was obliterated by the growing poison within them. As a group, the companions could overpower them more easily. After a brutal battle, they were finally done, with two rooms and a castle’s worth of steps cleared.

Cullen was entirely pissed off. “This wasn’t a real stand, they’ve just been trying to slow us down, coming at us one at a time like that.” He was literally watching evidence burn to ashes.

“This does feel like a diversion, but don’t lose hope,” Trevelyan said. “It _is_ a blow to Samson, trashing his stronghold. Remember what happened to us after Haven?How long did it take us to reorganize and gather people and materials? We may yet find something that will lead to Samson’s undoing.”

“May it be the Maker’s Will,” he said, still furious, but she was correct - it wasn’t over yet.

They passed through a set of huge iron doors.

“Would you look at these?” Dorian said. “They’re like something out of Old Tevinter! Now we generally use the snake, rather than the legless dragon motifs. This place must be ancient, underneath all the tacky red lyrium, of course.”

Cullen studied the bas relief serpents. He would have their researchers try to identify the figures and connect it to any Tevinter traditions they could use.

Behind them - outside the doors - the building was mostly in flames, but the Inquisition regulars were putting out those fires already. He had empowered some captains to follow them into the keep at a distance, and he was pleased to see they had taken the initiative to get the fires out. 

Inside this new room was shot through with giant shards of red lyrium, and nearly everything was smashed, but there were fewer fires. It looked like their attack had stopped Samson’s people in their destruction. He walked farther into the room.

“See anything helpful?” Dorian asked.

“Beyond smoke and ash, and a frightening amount of red lyrium? If this is Samson’s idea of remaining the world, I much prefer Trevelyan’s version,” Cullen said, but then he saw movement just beyond some burning debris.

Cullen went toward it and found Maddox sitting on the floor, leaned up against the base of a statue. He went to a knee. “You don’t look right, Maddox.” The Tranquil was pale and clammy.

Maddox moved slowly, but turned his head towards Cullen and Trevelyan. He put a hand on Cullen’s shoulder, then he turned to Trevelyan and said, “Hello Inquisitor.” He sounded drugged.

“I’ll send for the healers,” Cullen said gently.

Maddox took a difficult breath. “Don’t b-bother, Knight-Captain Cullen. I drank my entire supply of blightcap essence. It won’t be long now.”

The Inquisitor knelt at Maddox’s side and took his other hand. “We wouldn’t have hurt you, Maddox. We only wanted to ask you questions.”

“Yes. I know Knight-Captain Cullen would not harm me, but I could not allow questions. The Red Templars and I used fire to destroy as much as we could since it doesn't affect the beasts. We all agreed we would die to give Samson time to get away. The work, his work is so important.”

“Maddox, why? Why sacrifice yourself for Samson?” Cullen asked.

“You know already, Knight-Captain. Raleigh saved me before he needed me. And even before that, with the letters. He saved me then, too. Or tried to save me. He thought if he said it was someone outside the Order that I might be spared the brand. Meredith saw through it. After the Circle fell, Raleigh came for me. We left together. I can’t feel love, but his work gave me purpose. I - wanted to - show him.” Maddox struggled to heave a breath, and his voice grew faint, “To show him my devotion. One last, one last -” Maddox ran out of breath, and then he was gone.

Cullen forced himself not to cry - the whole thing was just disgusting - Samson, Meredith, the letters, Maddox. The entire business had just been wrong. If he had acted faster in Kirkwall, it could have been stopped. If he hadn’t been distracted by - Cullen closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “We should - we should still check everywhere. Maddox might have missed something in his haste.”

Cullen shut Maddox’s eyes and stood. “What a dismal place to die. Can’t have been great to live in either, under this command. The very feel of this place - it's just - wrong,” Cullen said.

Trevelyan scanned the room. “What was Samson like? Before? Maybe it will help us with where to look? Figure out where he might go? What else do we know?”

Cullen couldn't keep the disgust from his face. “Does it matter? ‘He used to be kind’ only goes so far - and yet those Red Templars and Maddox died to protect him. He does command loyalty.”

Trevelyan shrugged. “Love does funny things to people,” she said looking down at the body of the Tranquil. “Cullen,” she said softly, “Maddox should be laid to rest. Let’s lay him out on that bed over there. We can wrap him with the sheets. It’s more respectful than leaving him on the floor.”

Cullen nodded. “Bull, help me. If always Samson did his best for Maddox, we can do no less. I’ll see to some soldiers coming for him. He should be sent off to the Maker’s side properly.”

Cullen and Bull moved the body to the bed, then they wrapped him securely. Their actions jostled the bed, and a clinking sound came from underneath.

Bull stepped away from the bed, but tripped on something and fell on his ass. He looked down. “Boss, it think there are empty lyrium bottles under the bed.”

Dorian swept under the bed with his staff, and a pile of glass bottles came rolling out. “Now what do we have here?”

Cullen kicked them apart and bent to look at them. “Licked clean? How much lyrium was that man taking?”

“Drinking it, growing it, wearing it? You can’t say Samson isn’t committed,” Varric said.

They moved around the giant lyrium growth in the middle of the room to the mess of papers on the floor and table. Trevelyan sorted through the papers, then picked up a letter and looked at the name. “Cullen, this one is addressed to you.”

“A message? For me?” he asked. Vella nodded and handed him the letter. Cullen opened it, not looking forward to whatever justification Samson might be trying out this time. “Its from Samson - _‘Drink enough lyrium and its song reveals the truth. The Chantry used us. You’re fighting the wrong battle - Corypheus chose me as his general and his Vessel of Power’_ \- and other such nonsense. Does he think I’ll understand?” Cullen was livid. They had once been close, roommates even, but Cullen would never understand the man’s choice to become - whatever Samson was becoming. He folded the note away and shoved it in a pouch around his belt. He wanted to burn it, but it might prove useful later, upon reflection.

“Can we finish this up?” Varric asked. “Flaming red lyrium kind of gives me the creeps.”

“I agree, Commander,” Dorian said. “We can gather all the papers here and get out. I for one think better when I’m not in danger of poisoning or having the ceiling fall down around my head in burning chunks.”

“I think I saw another table or workbench in the other room, it looked vaguely familiar,” Trevelyan commented.“We should search it on our way out.”

They moved back into the other room, to the odd workbench Trevelyan had been talking about. It had been burned, but the Inquisition regulars had already put out the flames.

“Yes - I bet this was where Maddox worked. It looks a little like Dagna’s forging bench in the undercroft at Skyhold,” Treveylan said, poking some hot metal implements with one of her blades.

Dorian gasped when he got a good look at the smoking tools. “Those are Lyrium forging devices,” Dorian said. “And they are of a remarkable design. Intact, they’d be worth a fortune in Tevinter. Even a little melted it’s possible Dagna could backwards engineer them.”

“Yes,” Cullen said, finally looking at them. “Tranquil often make their own tools.If Maddox created these to make Samson’s armor, perhaps Dagna could use them to unmake the armor. This is it - we have him. We have a way to attack that armor!”He smiled unreservedly at the whole group.

***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***  
> I've been reading Crazy Rich Asians and I think it's making me write more about parties and jewelry than maybe I should be. Just one more 'party' scenario, and then we're off to Adamant Fortress. 
> 
> Pallacorda is a real game, a precursor to tennis.


End file.
